


Juneberries

by Misha Berry (MishaDerps)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Brainwashing, Brotherly Bonding, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Drugs, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Force-Feeding, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Kidnapping, Like one little sex scene at the end, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Explicit Sex, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Self-Harm, The Author Regrets Nothing, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 68,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10797192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MishaDerps/pseuds/Misha%20Berry
Summary: The greater source of tension in the Manor, however, turned out to be Damian and Tim. Their relationship had begun improving lately, but suddenly it took a turn and they were constantly at each other's throats again. Tim usually didn't react so much to Damian's taunts, but the kid had a serious bug up his ass lately and he was getting better at getting under Tim’s skin. Some days it felt like they were just fighting out of boredom, but it was starting to fray on everyone's nerves.When Tim is taken, Damian has to come to terms with his own insecurities, and how he really feels towards his older 'brother'. When he does, it might be too late.





	1. Strawberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, this is my first time writing the Bat Fam and DC in general, so if anyone has any tips, that would be great. I don't want to spoil anything yet, so I'll keep this short.

March in Gotham was unusually wet for the rest of the year. Not that the city wasn't always some kind of damp, but March was especially waterlogged. The last of the snow that had clung on in the early days finally melted into dirty puddles by the end of the first week, exposing all of the forgotten and lost things from before winter had come. Keys, singular socks, a cell phone every now and then, frozen dog turds, and the occasional severed finger. At the same time, the sky was perpetually stormy, threatening at any moment to rain down in half-icy torrents, soaking and freezing everything to the bone at once. It was still too early for what little green that existed in the city to start coming back to life, making the whole city even drearier than usual.

The first part of the month was an ironic dry spell for crime, with most people choosing to stay indoors rather than brave the cold and wet. Only the most determined of petty criminals went out, though the Rogues kept up their steady stream of insanity. Near the middle of the month, however, the city erupted in a fresh wave of bloodthirsty violence, the byproduct of spending too much time cooped up with other people and getting sick of each other's faces.

At the moment, Tim could relate.

He was currently in the Cave, getting ready for patrol with Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Damian. It was usually rare for all of them to be working together like this, but with the seasonal wave of crime, pooling their resources together was the smartest plan. Even then, Jason was only around because he’d taken a nasty hit to the leg and had needed to come to Alfred, only now recuperated enough to go back out on patrol. Bruce had been secretly pleased that Jason had stuck around, rather than bolt the minute he could, though they both skirted around each other like skittish cats, waiting for the other to strike first.

The greater source of tension in the Manor, however, turned out to be Damian and Tim. Their relationship had begun improving lately, but suddenly it took a turn and they were constantly at each other's throats again. Tim usually didn't react so much to Damian's taunts, but the kid had a serious bug up his ass lately and he was getting better at getting under Tim’s skin. Some days it felt like they were just fighting out of boredom, but it was starting to fray on everyone's nerves.

“Father, inform Drake that his presence is both unnecessary and unwanted,” Damian huffed snottily.

Tim barely resisted rolling his eyes, “I'm standing five feet away from you. Tell me yourself you little gremlin.”

Damian hissed, “I’ve been told not that cutting the things that displease you out of your life is the best way to deal with them.”

“Guys, please,” Dick begged for the third time that half hour. He was starting to look a little desperate.

“You two are giving me a migraine so bad I wish I was still dead,” Jason growled, “Can you go kill each other somewhere else? Quietly?”

“Hey, I was just sitting here, he’s the one that started it,” Tim defended.

“The ‘he started it’ argument, really Tim?” Jason scoffed, “That’s juvenile even for you guys.”

Damian smirked, “Well, we all knew that Drake’s intellect wasn't that advanced anyway.”

Tim’s dentist had mentioned something about grinding his teeth due to stress, but it was hard to remember the specifics at this moment, “I figured I was already stooped to your level, I might as well employ language that matched what a child you’re being.”

“I am not a child,” Damian growled, tensing for a fight.

It was Tim's turn to smirk, “Well then, you're pretty funny looking for a donkey.”

Damian was a half second away from attacking when Bruce finally snapped, “Enough!” The shout reverberated throughout the Cave, making a few clusters of bats flutter and squeak. Tim clamped his mouth shut, knowing he’d let it go on for too long; now Bruce was cross with both of them. He looked tired and annoyed, though you could only tell if you knew him. Both Jason and Dick were looking a little concerned, but they stayed quiet.

“If the two of you don't settle down, you’re both grounded from patrol,” Bruce said, glaring at the two of them over the case files he’d been perusing.

Tim ducked his head a little, feeling like a spanked child, resigning himself to a night of clipped responses and stark commands alternating with stony silence.

Damian, on the other hand, was more indignatious, “Father—!” he began to protest, but a sharp glare his way shut him down before he got very far. Tim wanted to feel sorry for the kid, but it was a little hard when he’d been such a shit this last week.

The younger boy seemed to blame Tim for his misfortune (which was decidedly unfair, in Tim's opinion, as Damian had started the whole thing anyway), and glared quite fiercely at him, “Drake, it appears you’ve caused more problems again. Maybe you should remove yourself from the situation.”

“Me?” Tim hissed, “Have you been listening to yourself you little—”

“Oo-kay then!” Dick suddenly appeared between them, “I have an idea, why don't you two just play the quiet game for a while? Won't that be fun?” The cheery smile on Dick’s face was stained at the edges, obviously at the end of his rope as Bruce was.

“Or you could both go into a quiet corner and just finish fighting out whatever’s gotten into you,” Jason suggested, “Seriously, you guys have been going at it non-stop lately. Either kiss and make up or finally kill each other, I don't care at this point.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Jason,” Bruce said suddenly, “Damian, Tim, you two will patrol together tonight.”

The Cave went silent in a stunned awe, before erupting in a flurry of protests.

“Father! You can't possibly expect me to work with him!”

“Oh come on! You really want us to be at each other’s throats the whole night? I won't get any work done.”

“Bruce, are you really sure this is a good idea?”

“Since when the fuck do I have good ideas?”

Bruce put his hand up to stop them, “You both have an attitude problem that you need to sort out between yourselves. You’re going to patrol together until you fix whatever it is that has you two so upset with each other, or otherwise learn to keep it to yourselves.” He narrowed his eyes, levelling them all with a stare, “Am I clear?”

Tim wanted to protest more, but he knew it was a lost cause, “Yes,” he said. Damian said nothing, crossing his arms and holding himself stiffly (the Damian version of a pout).

“Good,” Bruce said, “Everyone finish gearing up, we have a lot of ground to cover tonight.”

Dick trotted after Bruce as they finished getting ready, “Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave those two alone with each other right now?” he asked, “I know they haven't actually attacked each other in a while, but do you really want to take that chance?”

Bruce took a deep breath, “I trust them to stay professional while on patrol,” he said.

Dick eyed him critically, “You’re hoping to quarantine them both off so we don't have to listen to them fight anymore,” he accused.

Bruce let out a grunt, suddenly looking tense and tired, “I’m about to lose my mind,” he muttered.

“Yeah, same here,” Dick said with a sigh.

There was a sudden commotion behind them, “I’m driving!”

“You’re thirteen years old, you’re not driving.”

“I know how.”

“You’re still thirteen!”

Bruce’s eye was starting to twitch, “Neither of you are driving!”

* * *

 

“This is all your fault.”

Tim was three seconds away from flinging himself off of the roof without a grapple gun. Damian had been muttering and grumbling since they left the Cave, mostly in Arabic, but sometimes in English when he wanted Tim to hear his displeasure.

“How is this my fault?” Tim asked, scanning the streets below and trying to pick out anything of interest, “You were the one who kept picking a fight, not me. I was minding my own business until you came along.”

“Tt-” Damian suddenly left off the roof, his cape snapping taut as he glided off. Tim cursed and jumped after him, knowing he’d be in deep shit if Bruce or Dick found out they had separated rather than stuck together.

They landed in an alley, some feet away from what appeared to be a drug deal about to go sideways. Damian wasted no time in leaping on the dealer’s back, taking him down while the junkie scurried off into the night. Tim reached them just as Damian was landing a quick strike to the dealer’s neck, rendering him unconscious.

“What the hell,” Tim said, “Don't just run off ahead of me like that. He’s got a gun for crying out loud.”

Damian scoffed, “I am perfectly capable of handling myself, Red Robin.”

“That doesn't mean you run off on your own,” Tim said, “We were told to stick together.”

“If you need someone to hold your hand, I'm sure Nightwing would be more than happy to,” Damian sneered.

Tim wanted to slap him, “You’re really starting to get on my nerves, you know that?” he hissed, “Come on, we have other work to do.”

“Tt-” Damian followed Tim, but only reluctantly. He was unhappy about this whole situation, but he knew better than to test Father’s limits. He would play along for now, but he would show that he was the superior Robin.

They went along their patrol route in relative silence for a while, beating up criminals every few minutes. The city was crawling with the scum of the earth, but luckily they were the type to go down easy when Robin and Red Robin showed up to put the fear of the Bat into them. Nightwing, Batman, and Red Hood were all doing other routes of the city, with Red Robin and Robin doing the ‘soft’ areas, further punishment for their childishness. Still, there was plenty of work to do.

“Is it just me, or did the last couple of guys we took down seem spooked already?” Tim asked, zip tying another petty crook to a dumpster, “It’s like they were running from something.”

“So? What does it matter? We’re the ones they should be running from,” Damian said, shrugging with a cocky smirk.

Tim frowned, “I don’t like it. When minnows scatter, it’s because there’s a bigger fish in the water.” He stood and looked around, trying to figure out which direction the thug had come from, “Let’s stay cautious, I don't want to get surprised by anything.”

Damian rolled his eyes under his domino, “I won’t be. I’ve been trained to be aware of my surroundings since birth. That’s why  _ I’m _ the superior Robin.”

Tim gritted his teeth, “You’re only Robin because Nightwing needed something to do with you,” he snapped, finally at his wit’s end.

Damian snarled, “If you weren't so incompetent-”

“Oh enough with that!” Tim snapped, whirling around to face Damian, “We both know that you’re full of shit. If I really was as incompetent as you say, you wouldn't feel the need to point it out so much.”

Damian hissed, “Everyone knows that you’re the weakest link in the chain, they’re all just too polite to tell you to your face. You won’t admit it to yourself, but everyone thinks you’re worthless.”

Tim sucked in a breath, “Oh you are—!” he stopped, something catching his attention.

Damian plowed on, “See? You can’t even come up with a good rebuttal. You’re even more incapable than I thought.”

“Shh!” Tim hissed, “I think I hear something.”

“Tt, trying to distract me won’t work. You’re being pathet—”

Tim suddenly slammed into Damian, throwing them both into the side of the alley as a gunshot went off. There was a pained grunt from Tim as a sharp pain bit into his thigh.

“Fuck,” Tim spat, pressing a hand to the fresh puncture wound in his leg, feeling the wet heat spread down as he started to bleed. He craned his head around the corner of the alley as much as he dared, trying to get a look at who was shooting at them.

Damian had a better angle, and could see the animal masks, “Joker thugs,” he said.

“Joker?” Tim raised an eyebrow, “There hasn’t been any chatter about him making any kind of move in weeks.”

“I don’t see him, just his thugs. About twenty of them,” Damian growled. He reached for a batarang, but Tim stopped him.

“Not a good idea. We’re way outnumbered and way outgunned, and we do not have the element of surprise or stealth” he said, “I’m already clipped, we need to get out of here and contact the others.”

Damian snarled; he hated to admit it, but Tim had a point. There was no way they would make it out of this fight without someone getting hurt worse. They might have been able to do it if Tim didn’t have a bullet in his leg, but there wasn’t much they could do about that now.

“Come on, move,” Tim said, shoving Damian down the other end of the alley, the thud of jackboots coming closer and closer. Damian hissed and started running, looking around for a way to get to higher ground.

Tim limped as fast as he could behind Damian, which was admittedly pretty fast. He’d been shot in the thigh before, and it hurt like hell, but he could tell that this wasn’t immediately fatal. He wasn’t in danger of bleeding out, but the bullet was still inside and every time he took as step, it nudged around minutely and made his vision swim. It might be pushed up against some nerve or something, which was incredibly lucky, or very good aim.

As it was, he was moving a lot slower than usual, and when Tim got his bearings again, Damian was almost out of sight. He was nearly at the end of the alley when Tim noticed the dull glint of a gun, “Robin!” he called.

Damian noticed the other group of thugs hiding around the corner for them a split second later, skidded to a stop, and turned back down the alley. They’d been flanked, corralled into a narrow, straight street. Tim searched around for a way out, stomping down on the bit of panic that began to swirl in his head.

A few feet from his was a broken fire escape. It looked like it would fall apart if one so much as touched it, but it was their only way out. He signalled Damian and braced himself.

Damian leaped into him, putting a booted foot into Tim’s cupped hands. Tim lifted and all but threw Damian upwards into the bottom run of the fire escape. The ladder swung down with an ungodly shriek of rusted hinges that hadn’t moved in years. Damian scrambled up the ladder, Tim managing to grab a hold of it before it swung back up. A bullet slammed into the brick near his shoulder as he hauled himself up, the whole fire escape shuddering under the strain. Three more bullets pinged off the metal as they reached the top and scurried over the edge onto the roof.

Tim took a moment to rest his screaming leg. He glanced behind them, watching the thugs move towards the fire escape. Both groups moved in sync, light on their feet despite the size of them, their guns pointed downwards as they moved. Precision guns, with scopes and what looked like laser targeting. Odd, Joker usually went for the less accurate automatic assault guns for more chaos.

“Since when the fuck does Joker hire pros?” Tim asked rhetorically through his teeth as he pushed himself up. He limped forward again and nearly collapsed on his bad leg.

Damian caught him, “Useless,” he said, but there was an undercurrent of worry and fear in his voice. Tim was sharply reminded that, underneath all of his posturing and bravado, he was still a kid. A kid who had seen way too much death in his short life, who had  _ died _ himself.

“Let’s keep moving,” Tim said, “We’re going to be overrun in a moment if we don’t scram.”

“Comms aren’t working,” Damian said as they moved, “They must be blocking them.”

“None of this makes sense,” Tim said, “This doesn’t feel like the Joker at all.”

“Well they sure look like Joker thugs. Down!” Damian shouted, throwing them both to the side, behind a the stair access as a few thugs made it over the edge of the roof. There was a metallic clang and a terrific crash; Tim guessed that the fire escape had finally breathed its last.

“They’ll try to flank us again,” Tim said, seeing their chances of getting out of this dwindling fast. He looked around frantically. The next building over was taller than the one they were on, but it was rough brick and had a bunch of windows, “Think you can scale that?”

Damian scoffed, “What do you take me for, a novice?” They made it to the edge of the roof and looked out over the gap, “It’s too far to jump, too short to glide properly.”

“Not if I toss you,” Tim said, a cold calm settling in his stomach.

“Alright,” Damian agreed, before he caught on, “What about you though? How will you make it across?”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll find another way,” Tim said, stepping forward to grab at Damian.

The smaller boy jumped out of reach, “You’re injured and there  _ is _ no other way.”

Tim might be touched by his concern if they weren’t about to be gunned down by Joker mercenaries, “We don't have time for this Robin!” he shouted.

The thugs rounded the stair access and Tim moved like lightning. He grabbed hold of Damian and threw him over the side. Damian had no choice but to twist and grab hold of the building or fall to his death. He crashed into the side of the building hard, jarring his body and slipping a little. His knee crashed through a window with a spray of glass. Damian hissed and started climbing. A few bullets peppered the brick around him, and one lucky shot grazed his shoulder, stunning him for a moment. He made it to the roof and pulled himself over, collapsing on his back, waiting for more gunfire. When none came, he peered over the edge.

The thugs were nowhere in sight, and neither was Red Robin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, there's nothing like ending the first chapter on a horrible cliffhanger. See ya bitches!


	2. Cherries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have been finished quicker, but I had to work and then it was my birthday party, so I didn't have the time. I got stuck in a few places, but it was really fun to write.

By the time Damian was able to call in with the others over the comms, the trail was cold. The entire family scoured the city looking for leads, by Joker’s gang had found a damn good bolt hole. There was no sign of them or Red Robin, and no one had seen hide nor hair of Joker.

“You didn’t see which direction they went?” Batman asked Robin for the thousandth time.

Damian shook his head, too exhausted for a verbal answer. They had been searching all night.

“Sun’s coming up,” Nightwing said, “We better get going.”

Batman made a noise of frustration, and Damian sympathized. Tim had been taken while they were together, so he was responsible for bringing him home.

“I’m going to put a bullet in that damn clown,” Jason seethed, pacing around, “Why the hell are we standing around with our thumbs up our asses?”

“Hood, it’s almost daylight, we need to go,” Dick insisted, “We’ll be no use to Red Robin if we’re exhausted. We’ll pick it up after we get some sleep.”

“ _ Nightwing is right. As much as I wish to find Master Red Robin, the lot of you need to come back and get some rest, _ ” Alfred’s voice came over the comms.

Batman growled once again, but he looked over the city at the skyline that was starting to glow with morning. He turned and made his way back towards where the Batmobile was parked. After a moment, Damian followed.

Dick appeared at his side and walked in step with him, “We’ll find him, don't worry Babybird,” he said, flashing a tired smile and reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Damian shook him off and trotted a few steps away. He heard Dick sigh, but no other touch or platitudes seemed forthcoming.

Damian rode back to the Cave in the Batmobile with his father, both of them silent. Damian could see Bruce’s hands flexing on the steering wheel. His shoulders were tense and Damian could almost hear his jaw creaking.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly blurted, “It’s my fault.”

Bruce said nothing, but his shoulders relaxed a fraction and he reached out with one hand and placed it on Damian’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.  _ It’s not your fault, I forgive you _ , it said, and Damian couldn’t help but lean into it. Grandfather would have called him weak, and there was still a curl of shame in Damian’s stomach, giving in to even this slight physical attention, but he was learning that it was okay to be vulnerable sometimes.

However, that didn’t mean Damian forgave himself so easily. He was still responsible for Tim being taken, so he was going to do his damnedest to bring him home.

What he couldn’t wrap his head around was why Tim had done it, why he’d chosen to get Damian to safety even though he knew it would get him captured. There was no love lost between them, he shouldn’t have cared so much.

Right?

Three days later and there were still no leads on Tim’s whereabouts, and the whole family was getting antsy.

“Gotham’s a big city, but it’s not that big,” Steph said, “Where the hell is he?” She and Cass had come in to help with the search, but it wasn’t amounting to much.

“Are we sure he’s still in the city?” Barbara asked, scanning the monitors of the Bat Computer, security feeds from a dozen different cameras flicking through different angles, “Even I can’t find him.”

“Are we sure it was the Joker?” Dick asked, “This doesn’t seem like his usual M.O. He’s usually way more flashy. He likes us to know when it’s him.”

“Maybe he has a different plan this time,” Damian said, “Drake said something about the thugs being pros. He could be trying something new.”

“Doesn’t sound like the Joker at all,” Jason said, “I’m with Dick on this one, something’s off about this.”

“We have no way of knowing until we find something,” Bruce said, “We keep working until we find that something.”

No one answered, but there was an uneasy agreement in the air. None of them liked it when one of them went off the grid, there were too many things that could be happening to Tim right now that made their skin crawl just thinking about it.

“Still nothing on his tracker,” Barbara growled, leaning back in her chair, rubbing her eyes, “I’m coming up with a whole lotta nothing. This isn’t working.”

Jason stood, “So we pound pavement and put the pressure on until someone cracks. Somewhere, someone  _ always _ knows something. We have to keep putting fists in faces until they share.”

“ _ Just _ fists,” Bruce warned, but there was the plea under layers of carefully cultivated detachment.

“And rubber bullets,” Jason said, rolling his eyes, “Yeah yeah, I know.” He hadn’t killed anyone in over a year, but he got a little defensive anytime someone brought it up, even to praise him.

Bruce watched him for a moment, but turned away after a moment. He had to focus on getting Tim back. He couldn't lose another child, not again. He didn't know if he would be able to come back from it if it happened again.

“Everyone suit up, we’re heading out,” Bruce said, turning to face them all. His children, his family, who he would give everything to protect in heartbeat. Whom he had trained to fight, to put themselves in the way of danger for the sake of others, even at the cost of their lives. Every time he looked at one of them, he was almost overcome with a mixture of pride and fear. Pride, because who could ask for more wonderful, brave, strong children, but fear because it could get them all killed at any moment. And he had done this to them.

Bruce shook those thoughts off. He couldn’t get swept up in that vortex of self-loathing right now, not when Tim needed him. He’d get his third son back, safe and sound at home, and it would all be okay.

“Jason has the right idea. Someone always knows something, we just have to find them. The Joker has been out of Arkham for less than a month, but he’s never idle for long. We just have to find out what he’s planning,” he said, “Robin and I will visit his known associates again, see if anyone knows what he’s up to or where he might be. Oracle will see if any of the usual chemicals have moved into the city and keep an eye out for anything on the cams. Black Bat, Batgirl, hit the streets again, see if you can find someone who know someone. Nightwing, Red Hood, I want the two of you to go back to where Tim was taken, see if there was something we missed.” Bruce paused, glancing at all their faces, “Are we clear?”

There was a murmur of general assent, though Jason looked annoyed. He knew the reason why, but he couldn't risk it. He didn’t want to put Jason in a position where he might be tempted to go a little too far. The Joker was a still a sore spot between them, and Bruce didn’t want to reopen those wounds, not with things starting to heal. Not with Tim’s life in the balance.

“Good, finish gearing up and head out,” Bruce said. He lingered behind, waiting for the others to head out, a habit he’d gotten into lately, making sure they were all okay until the last possible moments.

One last look at all of them, just in case the worst happened.

When Red Robin had left the Cave three days ago, he’d been so annoyed with him and his youngest. They’d been fighting non-stop for days, and he hadn’t waited until the two of them left the Cave to see them off. It was something so small and innocuous, but it ate at Bruce’s gut. It seemed like every time he misstepped with his children, something catastrophic happened.

Bruce watched as Red Hood climbed onto his motorcycle, revving it loudly a few times so it echoed through the Cave—something he knew annoyed Bruce—before he tore away with a squeal of tires. Nightwing followed shortly behind him on his own bike, neither of them with a backward glance. Bruce stood for a few minutes, watching long after they’d gone, trying to quiet his gnawing anxiety.

“Father, I am ready,” Robin said, standing by his elbow. Damian, his youngest, who had trained since he was small to be a lethal weapon, who was learning that he could be more than what Talia and Ra's had made him into.

Bruce watched him for a moment longer than he should have, making Robin shift with unease, “Father?” Damian questioned.

“Let’s go,” Batman said, shedding ‘Bruce’ and stepping into his armor—figuratively speaking—and headed for the Batmobile.

Bruce was not a religious man at all, and he would never confess it to anyone on pain of death, but every night, before he left to protect the city, he thought of his parents. Thomas and Martha Wayne, gunned down in front of their right year old son in a back alley of the city that they loved. In the beginning, he thought  _ of _ them, the reason he had started down this path, all those years ago, but now, he thought  _ to _ them, a pseudo prayer, every night as he was leaving the Cave.

_ “Please, Mother, Father,” _ he thought,  _ “If you’re out there, if you’re listening, please watch over them. Please get them home safely.” _ Bruce took a deep breath and started the car,  _ “And if you can’t, please take care of them on the other side.” _

* * *

 

“This is bullshit,” Jason snarled, “He put us on the soft gig on purpose.”

Dick sighed, “Yes, he did,” he said, “And we all know why too, so I don't get why you're complaining about it.”

Jason growled and paced around, “He thinks I’ll kill someone if he lets me get anywhere near people right now,” he said, “He doesn’t trust me.”

“You do get a little prickly whenever the Joker comes up,” Dick said. When Red Hood turned to glare at him, he put his hands up, “Which is totally justified, don't get me wrong. But you can’t blame him for wanting to keep you away from the Joker. Not with Red Robin captured like this.” Nightwing knelt down to inspect something on the ground, “He’s probably having flashbacks or something.”

Jason grumbled, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he said.

The fact that Bruce still didn’t trust him not to kill stung a little. He hadn’t killed anyone in over a year. Did he spill a little more blood than strictly necessary sometimes? Probably, but he was making progress, and a little appreciation of that would be nice sometimes. If Jason were honest with himself though, he had the chance to kill the Joker, put a bullet in his head and splatter his deranged brain-matter over the walls like macabre paint, there was a 70%-30% chance he would do it. He wanted the Joker dead, for good this time, but he was no longer sure he wanted to be the one to pull the trigger. It was only a doubt, an uncertainty, but Jason figured that showed some character growth, at least.

“I’m not thrilled about this either,” Nightwing said, standing, having found nothing of interest, “Detective work was never my strong suit,” he said, then chuckled, “Red Robin was always the best at that. Oh the irony.”

Jason could tell that Dick was holding on by a thin tether. Tim was in the hands of the Joker, who’d already killed one Robin, and everyone was waiting for the call, waiting to find Tim bloodied and torn to shreds.

Or worse.

“There’s nothing here,” Nightwing said, “We’ve been over the area with a fine tooth comb, there’s nothing to find.”

“Nothing but bullet holes,” Red Hood said, lifting a hand to run his gloved fingers over the divot in the brick.

It was a pretty deep hole, the weapon’s they must have used were pretty powerful. Red Hood furrowed his brow; a hole . . . but no bullet? He leaned in for a better look.

“They dug the bullets out of the brick,” he said, “Look, there’s scour marks where they scraped them out.”

Nightwing trotted over, “You’re right,” he said, “I guess they didn't want us to know what kind of weapons they were using. They might have a special kind of bullet that would tip us off.”

“But why would Joker care?” Red Hood asked, “Since when is Joker so careful?”

“He must be planning something big and doesn’t want us to find him before he’s got it all set up,” Nightwing said, “You know better than anyone what he’s like. He’s a whole bag of crazy dipped in kerosene and holding the match himself, you can’t predict him.”

“Yeah,” Jason let his hand fall from the brick, “Something just doesn’t feel right.”

Dick sighed, “I get what you mean, I’ve got the worst feeling about this,” he said.

Because the universe had a great sense of timing, an explosion went off just as Dick finished his sentence, “That came from the warehouse district,” he said, watching the fireball and subsequent plume of black smoke.

“Wonder what it was,” Jason said, frowning. He tapped his comm, “Oracle, there was an explosion in the warehouse district, near the pier. You got any idea what caused it?”

“ _ Give me a minute _ ,” Barbara’s voice came through the comm, clear as crystal, “ _ I’m not seeing anything, you might want to check it out _ .”

“Will do, gorgeous,” Dick said, and Jason gagged, “Shut up.”

“You two are gross,” Jason said as he trotted towards his bike. He swung his leg over and sped off, pealing out of the alley and towards the tower of black smoke.

“ _ Guys _ ,” Oracle’s voice came back to his ear, and Jason’s gut clenched. She sounded  _ scared _ , “ _ I just got a visual of a purple Lamborghini leaving the area of the explosion. _ ”

* * *

 

The moment Batman heard the explosion, he knew something was wrong. A sick sense of deja vu came over him, turning his heart and lungs to ice. He couldn't breathe, but he was already moving.

“Robin, stick close to me,” he said. Was his voice shaking? He couldn’t tell.

Oracle’s voice came alive in his ear, saying something about spotting one of Joker’s signature cars fleeing the scene, but Batman already knew. He knew and he prayed that he wasn’t too late this time.

Batman and Robin jumped into the Batmobile, which opened and closed obediently for them. Batman strapped in and tore off, going so fast the Robin was pressed to the side by the force with a quiet ‘oof’.

Batman spared the boy a glance. They had just finished interrogating one of Gotham’s noteable black market dealers when the explosion went off. He wasn’t one of Joker’s usual go-to’s, but he’d dealt with him in the past once or twice. They’d given him quite a scare, but the man hadn’t heard from Joker. As far as he knew, as anyone knew, he was lying low, waiting for the heat to die down so he could move more freely. Robin hadn’t been satisfied with that answer and had broken the man’s finger, which Batman had planned to reprimand him for later, even though he empathized with his frustration. Now, Robin sat tensely in the seat next to him, eyes trained on the cloud of smoke they were heading towards.

Batman turned his eye back to the road, zipping through the streets he’d memorized long ago with more precision than one would expect from such a beast of a car. Minutes that felt like hours ticked by until they arrived at the bombed out warehouse. As they jumped out of the car, Nightwing and Red Hood pulled up on their bikes. Batman couldn’t see Red Hood’s expression under his helmet, but Nightwing was white as a sheet. The four of them waded into the ruins of the warehouse, hoping to God they didn’t find what they were looking for.

Jason was having a kind of bizarre out-of-body experience, searching through the rubble, calling for Tim. He was watching a scene he’d heard about, but wasn’t there for (in any way that counted). Jason tried not to hope that the ending would be different this time, knowing where hope got him last time, but he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around what might be the reality. He didn’t want to hope, but he desperately didn’t want to be proven right.

Dick let out a shout, “Here!” His voice was shaking.

The rest of them converged where Dick was trying to sift through the rubble, calling to his brother, trying to get a response. There was a lot of debris that had fallen on top of Tim, and they had to move it carefully, or it might crush him. None of them spoke as they tried to the clear the debris off of an unmoving Red Robin, all of them filling with dread.

They finally cleared enough of the debris to pull Tim out. Damian felt his stomach roil as Bruce tugged the mangled body into his arms and laid him down on the ground. His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles and his face was so bashed, they wouldn’t recognize him if not for the uniform. Bruce felt for a pulse, checked his breathing, started CPR, trying to resuscitate him, but all of them knew.

There was nothing to resuscitate.

They were too late.

Bruce pulled the limp, bloodied body into the cradle of his arms, breathing hard. Dick collapsed to his knees, his whole body trembling like he was about fall to pieces. It was hard to see what Jason was doing under his helmet, but he made a noise like a dying animal and turned walking back to his bike.

Damian was paralyzed. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he could barely see, the only thing he could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears. It felt like the world was tilting and he was going to throw up. This couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening. This was not how things were supposed to go. Tim wasn’t . . . He couldn’t be . . . This wasn’t supposed to  _ happen _ .

“Hey!” Batgirl and Black Bat were finally on the scene, running towards them, “What happened?” Batgirl asked, her breath coming in small puffs. They had been on the other side of the city when the warehouse blew.

Damian looked up at them, trying to find the words, “It’s . . .” His voice stuck in his throat, caught in a hard lump. He swayed on his feet and Black Bat stepped forward.

“Where is Red Robin?” she demanded, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking around, trying to determine what happened. From where they were standing, they could only see Batman’s back hunched over something, like he was trying to protect it from the world.

There was a squeal of tires as Red Hood sped away from the warehouse. Dick began to sob, tears streaming down his face. Bruce threw back his head and let out a brutally painful cry; agony and rage and despair.

Damian hung his head and let his eyes burn with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp.


	3. Passionfruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a little longer than the others, but I had a lot I wanted to include. This was honestly the most fun I've had writing a chapter in a while, though I nearly made myself tear up a few times.

They took Tim to Leslie’s, rather than back to the Cave. Bruce wanted an autopsy (because he wanted to know, he wanted to punish himself), and he didn't want to make Alfred do it. He cradled Tim’s broken body close in his arms (had he always been such a small kid?) and made Dick drive the Batmobile, Damian sitting in the back. The car was dead silent. Steph and Cass were taking Dick’s motorcycle back to the Cave, which gave them the unpleasant task of telling Alfred and Barbara the news. Jason was AWOL, probably on the hunt for the Joker, but Bruce couldn’t think of that right now. All he could think about was that he was doing this for the third time, holding his son’s body in his arms, trying not to break down.

Already Bruce was trying to think of ways to fix this. Jason, Damian, both had come back to him after they had been ripped from this life. There were ways, he knew there were ways, he could fix it.

But first he had to know.

They arrived at Leslie’s. Dick had called ahead, so she was waiting for them at the back. She looked down at Tim in Bruce’s arms as he carried him inside and sucked in a breath, but said nothing. She led them to an unused room with a table and equipment in it.

“It’s busy in the clinic, I don't have time to do it right away,” she said, “I’ll get to it as soon as I can, and he’ll be safe in here, but it might be morning before I have the time.” She looked incredibly apologetic.

“I understand,” Bruce said, voice flat, a little scratchy from screaming. He laid Tim out on the flat metal surface and began to remove his uniform. Dick ran some water and found a washcloth.

They took some samples from Tim; the grit under his fingernails, the ash from his clothes and skin, anything that might indicate something. Once the technical side was covered, they gently washed him, getting him nice and clean. Tim hated going to bed without a shower, hated the feeling of grit on his skin and getting his sheets dirty. The water ran a murky pink from all of the blood and the dirt. Bruce draped a clean sheet over him and put a folded towel under his head, wishing he could do more because he knew Tim preferred to sleep on soft things, cushions and pillows and wrapped in soft blankets. It was cold in the room, Tim would hate it, he hated sleeping in cold rooms.

“Initial observation,” Leslie started, having stood back and watched them, “It looks like he was beaten with something, a blunt instrument, before the warehouse came down on top of him.”

“A crowbar,” Bruce said through teeth gritted so hard that his jaw ached.

“Sick bastard,” Dick hissed, leaning over Tim and petting his black hair. It was burned off on one side, from the explosion probably. He must have been very close to it, which would explain why his face was such a mess.

Bruce took a deep breath, inhaling the sterile smell of the clinic, “Get back to me as soon as possible,” he instructed Leslie, “We’ll be awake.”

Leslie nodded, “Yes,” she said. They turned to leave the room, Leslie getting out her keys to lock the door behind her. That’s when Bruce noticed Damian still in the room, staring at the sheet covered body on the table.

“Robin,” he called. No response, “Robin,” he tried again.

Damian didn’t budge, rooted to the spot as he stared at Tim’s body. Bruce worried for a moment that he might be going into shock. Dick stepped forward into the room and called softly, “Dami, we need to go now.”

Damian blinked behind his mask and turned to look at his older brother. Dick held out his hand and Damian took it, letting himself be led out of the room like a toddler. Sometimes, Bruce was a little jealous of the close relationship between Dick and Damian, but now he was only grateful. He reached down and took Damian’s other hand, squeezing it tightly. Damian squeezed back just as hard.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I can,” Leslie said, “I need to get back to work.”

Bruce nodded, “Thank you Leslie.” He tugged Damian away, back out to the car.

The drive home was as quiet as the ride to the clinic had been, this time with Bruce driving. There was blood on his gloves, flaking off and getting all over the car. It would have to be cleaned. He’d do it himself, but he knew Alfred would insist on doing it, would need to feel like he was doing something.

Alfred was waiting for them when they arrived back at the Cave. His face was as impassive as ever, standing tall and composed, and though his eyes weren’t red or wet, they spoke volumes of sadness and despair. Bruce never knew what to say to Alfred in these situations, when one of the children was hurt badly (or worse). Some small part of him that remembered being eight years old wanted to cling to Alfred, the only stable thing in the world, and cry for hours.

Bruce got out of the car and numbly walked toward Alfred, stopping when they were side by side. He didn’t reach out, but there was a measure of comfort in his presence alone. He took a deep breath and continued towards the changing room, needing to get out of the suit.

“It’s not your fault, Master Bruce,” Alfred said softly. Bruce closed his eyes tightly, trying to let the words sink in, but they wouldn’t. It  _ was _ his fault, it was  _ all _ his fault. He trained Tim, he gave Tim the tools to be out on the Gotham streets, putting himself in danger, time and time again. It had only now just caught up to him.

Alfred wished he could help more, but he knew that there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to make it better. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Alfred went to the Batmobile and peered inside. There was blood, but not a lot, and most of it was flaky, having dried before it got in the car. For once, Alfred cursed his medical knowledge, because he was fully aware that Tim had died long before he got in the car, and even if he had been there, with his medical knowledge that had saved him before, there was nothing he could have done for Tim.

With a deep breath, Alfred began to clean out the inside of the car. It didn’t take nearly as long as he thought it would, and he was left with much too much time on his hands. Tea, he should make tea for everyone, to soothe their throats and rehydrate them.

Alfred was in the middle of pouring the water when someone pounded frantically on the front door. He set the kettle down and went to the door, wondering who it could be, but having a pretty good guess.

Superboy was standing outside, breathing hard, like he’d just flown as fast as he could from wherever he was. His eyes were frantic, “It isn't true,” he pleaded, “Tell me it isn’t true.”

Alfred felt a wave of empathy for the boy, “Why don't you come inside and have some tea?” he offered.

Conner marched stiffly inside, following Alfred to the kitchen where the tea was still brewing. Alfred indicated he could sit, but he remained standing, “Please Alfred,” he begged, “Please tell me what happened.”

Alfred poured a cup of tea and set it down for Conner, “A few hours ago, Batman and the others recovered a body from a warehouse that exploded. It seems like he was . . . beaten with something, prior to death.” Alfred steadied himself against the counter, gripping until his knuckles turned white, “All signs point to the Joker have kidnapped Tim and . . . recreated Jason’s . . .”

Conner looked like his world had just shattered, “No,” he said, “No, I don’t believe you.” He shook his head and paced around, “I don't believe you, I don’t believe you,” he muttered like a mantra, looking like he might fly to pieces at any moment.

“Master Conner, please sit,” Alfred instructed, coming around the counter and gently tugging the younger man to sit at the kitchen island. Conner sat, but kept muttering to himself, rocking slightly. Alfred wondered if Kryptonians experienced shock in a similar manner to humans, or if this was Conner’s human side coming out.

“Who called him?” Barbara asked, coming to the doorway. She’d come to get some tea, knowing that Alfred would have some set out for everyone.

“I’m not sure,” Alfred said, gently rubbing Conner’s back to try to calm him. It was like stroking a marble statue.

“We did,” a croaky voice came from the hall. Steph and Cass were coming down the hall, also looking for tea, “Cass told me I should call Superboy and tell him.”

“Why?” Barbara asked. She knew Conner and Tim were friends, best friends even, but it couldn't have waited a day? This was a family affair.

Cass pulled out a notepad and wrote on it,  _ They are lovers. _ She frowned at her writing and scratched out ‘are’.  _ They  _ _ are _ _ were lovers. _

Barbara blinked, “I didn't know,” she said, “Tim . . . he never mentioned anything.”

Cass flipped to a new page,  _ It was new. Five weeks only. I knew because I saw the way they were together. _ Barbara nodded in understanding. It was hard to keep secrets from anyone in the family, all of them being detectives, but it was especially hard to keep secrets from Cass. She could read body language so well that she always knew when something was up.

Cass sniffed, tears rolling down her face,  _ They were good together _ , she wrote,  _ The were happy. _ She let out a sob and buried her face into Steph’s shoulder. She was crying too.

Alfred, ever reliable in a crisis, gathered them all around the kitchen island and put cups of tea in their hands. If his hands shook, no one mentioned it.

* * *

 

It was getting close to daylight when Jason finally returned to the Cave. He had no leads on Joker, though he’d sliced up a few of his known ‘friends’ pretty badly trying to get the information out of them. He’d almost killed them, and he would have felt justified, knowing that they helped, and continued to help, that sick freak commit his atrocities.

But he hadn’t killed them. No, he wanted to wait, to save it for the one person who deserved it most. Jason had promised them, promised Tim (oh God,  _ Tim _ ) that he wouldn't kill again. If he was going to break that promise, he was going to do it for a damn good reason.

Jason removed his helmet and set it down on his bike. He had only come back to the Cave because he needed the Bat Computer to search some things, and some stitches on his arm. One of the scum-of-humanity assholes he’d ‘talked’ to had gotten a lucky hit, and it was in an awkward position to stitch himself.

The sight of the blood reminded Jason of how much of it had been on Tim. He tried not to think of what Tim went through, the feeling of the crowbar coming down over and over again until he couldn't feel the individual blows, only the never ending pain. Seeing the numbers tick down on the bomb, hoping that Batman would swoop in to save him like he always did, having faith that he was coming to his rescue.

Worse than all of that was the realization that this was the end, that help was too far away and he wasn’t going to make it out this time. The blind fear as he was crushed under the debris, the smoke and the beating working together to squeeze the air from his lungs. The taste of blood in his mouth and the last thing he saw was his own mangled limbs before everything faded to black. Holding on, even as he felt the life draining from him, to a sliver of hope that Batman—Dad—would make it just in the nick of time.

Jason had learned his lesson; never hope, never have faith. It was easier that way.

But he’d never wanted anyone else to have to learn that lesson.

Jason sucked in a breath, realizing that he’d been staring at his wound for nearly fifteen minutes, lost in his own mind. He shook head, trying to clear his thoughts, and trotted up the stairs. There was a button to signal Alfred that one of them was hurt when he wasn't down in the Cave to meet them, so Jason pressed it before going to the computer. It wasn't too bad of a cut, he could multitask.

“Jason?”

He looked up from the computer. Bruce was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Jason had been so focused on his work that he hadn't noticed someone come in, “Where’s Alfred?” he asked.

“Upstairs with the girls.” Bruce sounded  _ wrecked _ . His throat sounded like he’d scrubbed it out with steel wool, and his eyes were red and raw looking, “What do you need? Are you hurt?”

Jason’s hand twitched. He could hardly feel it anymore from the numbing pain of the cut, “Just need some stitches,” he said, “And the computer.”

“I can do it, if you don't mind,” Bruce offered. He looked like he desperately needed something to do.

Jason wondered for a moment why Bruce wasn't here already, working like mad to find the Joker. Why was he letting that maniac get away again?  _ He was such a— _

He stopped that train of thought. It wouldn't do him any good and as much as he hated it, it wasn't fair to Bruce, “I don’t mind,” he grunted, turning back to the computer. He was getting blood on the keys from the cut.

Bruce nodded and disappeared into the medical bay, then reappeared at Jason’s side. He moved slowly, like he was afraid he’d startle Jason and he would leave, or lash out. He gently washed and disinfected the cut, putting some numbing gel on it before he got to work stitching. Jason hissed, but he kept working on the computer one handed, trying to find some sort of clue where the Joker might be.

“He can't have gone far,” Jason growled, talking to himself, “That car of his is almost as recognizable as the Batmobile.” He sat back in the chair, glaring up at the monitor like it was responsible for not keeping track of the lunatic clown, “Maybe the bastard drove himself off the pier and drowned himself. Wouldn't that be nice? Save me a bullet and kill himself.”

“Jason,” Bruce said softly, finishing the stitches. Jason rounded on him, suddenly filled with rage.

“You can't tell me not to do this!” he shouted, “Not this time! This time is the  _ last _ time! I should have fucking killed that clown a long time ago!  _ You _ should have killed him a long time ago!” Jason’s face was hot, and he realized he was crying, “It wasn't enough that he took me away from you, now he’s taken Tim too! This is all  _ your _ fault!  _ I hate you! _ ”

Jason was shaking, tears burning his eyes and breathing like he’d just run a marathon. He regretted his words immediately, but he didn't want to take them back. He wanted Bruce to hurt, he wanted to punish him because Tim was dead and the Joker killed him and he could have prevented it.  _ Jason _ could have prevented it if he’d just gotten the balls and put a bullet in the Joker like he kept planning to but never did so it was  _ his  _ fault as well because he was a damn  _ coward _ .

“You're right,” Bruce said, his voice soft, “It's my fault. I should have worked harder to keep him—to keep all of you safe.” He sounded so broken, looked so tired and wretched, “It’s all my fault. I’m sorry, Jason, I’m so sorry.”

Jason’s breath caught in a sob, fresh tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t stop them once they started, blurring his vision and stinging his eyes. He felt arms wrap around him tightly, pressing him close to a strong chest. Jason collapsed into Bruce and sobbed, exhaustion and emotion finally taking hold of him like a vice. He hated him, hated Bruce, hated himself, hated the Joker, hated  _ Tim _ . He wished he’d stayed dead, stayed away from this family, had never become a part of it in the first place. Anything would have been better than this pain.

Bruce stroked his hair and rocked him gently, like he was little again and sad about something stupid. Jason could feel something wet in his hair and feel the hitching breaths under his cheek. The two of them stayed that way for what might have been hours, trying to take what little comfort they could in each other.

Damian watched them from the top of the stairs, watched his father and brother break down in each other’s arms. As quietly as he’d arrived, he left them alone. This wasn’t where he needed to be.

Damian wandered through the house, looking for something. For what, he wasn’t quite sure. He stopped by the living room and peered inside. Alfred and Barbara were speaking in low voices, both with red rimmed eyes and curled over mugs of tea. Superboy was curled up on one of the couches, asleep or pretending to be. Damian back away and continued down the hall.

He heard something in one of the guest rooms and crept close to look through the crack in the door. Steph and Cass were curled up on the bed together, both crying softly, holding each other close. Cass was silent, but Steph kept up a steady murmur between hiccups. Damian had the urge to dash into the room and crawl in between them, feel their warmth around him. He turned and all but ran down the hall.

Damian didn’t stop until he reached Dick’s door. He hesitated for a moment, before knocking softly, almost hoping that he wouldn't be heard.

“Come in.” Dick’s voice was scratchy and wet sounding at the same time. Damian pushed open the door, pausing for a moment.

Dick tried to smile when he saw him, but it fell flat and didn't even make it close to his eyes, “Hey Little D, you okay?” He looked horrible; his eyes were red and wet, his face streaked with tears. He was shaking, like he couldn't physically contain his emotions.

Damian must have spent too much time watching him, because the look on Dick’s face grew concerned, “Hey, what wrong? You need a hug Dami?”

He almost answered ‘no’ before he realized that Dick might not be asking if Damian wanted a hug, but instead asking  _ Damian _ for a hug himself. Damian darted across the room and crawled into Dick’s outstretched arms. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he really wanted a hug too.

“It’ll be okay, Little D,” Dick soothed, holding him tightly in his lap and resting his damp cheek against the top of his head, “It’ll be okay. Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Damian mumbled into Dick’s shirt. He tried to press closer, wishing he could disappear into his big brother, hide from the world forever, “Why did he do it?” he whispered.

“Who?” Dick asked, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

“Drake,” Damian clarified, “Why did he save me? I could have been with him, protected him from the Joker.”

“Oh, Dami,” Dick cooed, “He saved you because he’s your older brother, and we look out for our little brothers.”

“But why!” Damian shouted, “I’m enhanced! I could have survived that! He didn’t have to save me! If I had been with him, I could have stopped it!”

“Damian,” Dick said softly, stroking his hair, trying to calm him down, “You don’t know that. None of us could know that. Tim didn't want you to get hurt.”

Damian sniffled, and now he was crying, “It’s not fair,” he said, “Why did he do it? It should have been me.”

“No, Dami, please don't say that.” Dick clutched him closer, “He did it because he loved you, and he didn't want you to get hurt.”

“He didn’t love me, he hated me,” Damian said, his stomach turning over, “I made him hate me.”

“No, of course not,” Dick said, “He didn’t hate you. He loved you. He was your older brother.” He squeezed Damian tightly and kissed the top of his head, “And you loved him.”

Damian sobbed, clutching Dick’s shirt, knowing he was getting it wet and gross but not able to stop himself, “The last th-thing we ever did was f-fight,” he hiccuped, “I t-told him he w-was pathetic.”

Dick let out a long sigh, “Tim was really smart. He knew you didn’t mean it.”

_ “You’re just saying that” _ , Damian thought, but didn’t say,  _ “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” _

_ “Tim died thinking I hated him.” _

* * *

 

It was early morning when Leslie finally called. Pale, overcast daylight was starting to peek over the city, an eerie quiet giving a false sense of calm. It was one of the only time during the day that the city seemed to take a breath and slow down. Bruce hadn’t slept, hadn’t let himself sleep, even when Jason passed out from exhaustion. He hadn’t slept long, and left right after, still hunting for the Joker, but Bruce was glad that he’d gotten at least a little rest.

Bruce didn’t deserve the luxury of sleep just yet. He had to know first, he had to know how Tim died. Had it been under the blows of the crowbar? Or had he lived long enough to be crushed and suffocated under the warehouse? The thought made Bruce sick.

Clark had stopped by an hour or so earlier to pick up Conner. They had finally had to call him after Conner wouldn’t budge, and none of them could make him move a muscle. Clark had looked almost ashamed to be there, like he was intruding on something he shouldn’t be.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. Bruce said nothing and showed him to the living room where Conner was still curled up tightly, murmuring to himself.

It had taken Clark several minutes to get through to Conner, and then several more to convince him to move. He led him gently to the door before he paused and turned back to Bruce. He laid a friendly hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“If there’s anything I can-”

Bruce brushed him off, “No, there’s nothing,” he said flatly.

Clark looked hurt for a moment, but he nodded and stepped back, “I’ll inform the Justice League that you’ll be taking a break from the roster,” he said. He dipped his head one last time and flew off, taking Conner by the hand to lead him.

Bruce watched them fly off over the city for a moment before shutting the door behind them and returning to the Cave. Leslie called about an hour after that.

Scrubbing his eyes and bracing himself, Bruce tapped the button to accept the call through the Batcomputer, “I’m here,” he said.

“ _ Tim doesn’t have a spleen _ .”

Bruce blinked, trying to process the unexpected train of conversation, “No, he had it removed a year ago when he was stabbed by—”

“ _ No, yes, I know that _ ,” Leslie said. She sounded strange (excited? eager?), “ _ But Tim doesn’t have a spleen. _ ”

“ . . . I’m not sure I’m following.”

There was a pause as Leslie seemed to collect her thoughts, “ _ Tim doesn’t have a spleen, so explain to me why I’m holding a spleen I just took out of the body wearing his uniform _ .”

Bruce blinked, brain whirring as he tried to piece together that information, his mind frayed after such a long night, “It isn’t Tim,” he said softly.

“ _ This isn’t Tim, _ ” Leslie confirmed, “ _ Tim is still alive. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't I a stinker?


	4. Persimmons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but the last one was longer, so that makes up for it. I didn't plan for it to be so short, but I couldn't think of anything else to add that wouldn't interrupt the flow of things. I actually refined quite a few plot points that I had been unclear on in this chapter, so that's nice (for me) at least. Anyway, enjoy!

When Tim threw Damian, he was expecting the thugs to either kill him right away or drag him off, so he wasn’t particularly surprised when a needle pierced his neck and ice slid through his veins before he lost consciousness.

He awoke several hours later in a dark room, head spinning, but the wound on his leg was cleaned and dressed. Very peculiar. He sat in the darkness for at least an hour before the light flicked on as the door opened, blinding him. Smart actually, he was too stunned by the lights to make a move on whoever was coming through the door.

Three large thug types were now in the room with him, all of them armed. They were dressed in black fatigues and body armour, and they stood as though they’d had military training. They weren't military though, at least not anymore, since they had different hairstyles; only one of them had cropped hair, the other two had longer hair, one of them had a mullet (good God) and the other had a long pony tail. These guys were ex-military or mercs. Professional guns for hire, the high end type that the Joker never bothered with.

The one with the close cropped hair trained a pistol on him, “Strip,” he ordered. He was the eldest of the three, or at least he looked it, and he was clearly the leader.

Tim raised an eyebrow at the request. It wasn't an entirely unusual request, as he could have hidden weapons on him and the suit was equipped with powerful body armour and other protections, but he wasn't eager to get naked in front of three other guys.

Well, guys who weren't Conner.

“Strip,” the leader ordered again, raising his weapon a little. Tim didn't really have much of a choice.

Tim removed his uniform slowly, careful to keep his eyes on the three thugs and his hands visible. It didn't seem like they would get jumpy, but he didn't want to test that theory. Once his uniform was entirely removed aside from his mask, underwear, and tank top, he straightened.

“All of it, Mr. Drake,” the leader said.

Damn.

Tim growled and removed his tank top and underwear, leaving the mask for last. Silly, but he felt the most naked without that. They knew him somehow, so it was rather useless, but he still didn't want to give up the symbolic protection it gave him.

Once he was completely down to his skin, ponytail tossed him a folded square of white fabric. It was a shift of some kind, stiff and heavy, but not rough, and it felt clean. Tim quickly pulled it over his head, glad to feel a little less naked. It was a little big on him, exposing his collarbones and going down to the tops of his knees, but it was better than nothing.

“Turn and put your hands against the wall,” the leader instructed, pointing to the wall with his weapon. It was a cement wall, whitewashed but grimy. The fluorescent light above them buzzed. The whitewash looked new, but incomplete and uneven in places, like they had done it in a hurry and hadn’t cleaned the walls properly. If Tim were to hazard a guess, they were still in Gotham.

Tim turned and pressed his hands to the wall, gritting his teeth and trying to think of a way out of this. Mullet stepped forward and before Tim could do anything, his neck was pricked again and he was out in seconds.

When he came to a second time, it was many many hours later. Tim wondered if it had been days (they must have kept drugging him and kept him under in an induced coma); he had pretty good internal clock, and it was telling him that it had been a very long time since he’d last been awake.

He was in a cell again, more whitewashed cement and fluorescent lights, but this time there was a glass wall facing a hallway. The cot he was on was a decent quality, comfortable as far as cots went, but bolted down to the floor. He didn't have a blanket or pillow, but it was warm enough in the room that he didn't need to cover up for warmth. The floors were covered with a beige carpet, which Tim guessed was simply glued down to more cement. There was a toilet and sink in the corner of the cell, no door or room, but a small wall that came up to about chest high if he were to sit on the toilet, giving the illusion of privacy without any actual privacy.

Tim swung his legs over the side of the cot, sitting up slowly in case the drugs were still in his system. He was still in the shift, but he didn't feel gross, so he guessed someone had bathed him while he was unconscious (which was all kinds of nope, thank you very much). Tim looked out through the glass, trying to determine if there was anything he could use, but all he could see was another identical cell across from him. There were no visible cameras in the cell with him, but he could see a few in the hallway.

Tim took a deep breath and reviewed the facts; he had been kidnapped by people who looked like Joker thugs, but clearly weren’t, and taken out of Gotham. They knew their way around drugs, and they weren’t shy about using them. They had some resources, since they were able to get him out of Gotham and pay for high-end mercs. They wanted him alive, or they wouldn't have bothered to treat his wound, but they weren’t afraid to hurt him, at least a little. So he could probably expect some torture in the future. The concerning part was that they knew his secret identity, which could be an issue if they wanted to release that to the world. They must have been watching them for a while and had some pretty good deductive skills.

Slowly standing, Tim walked across the carpet to the glass. Five steps from the cot against the back wall to the glass, not a big cell at all. Cautiously, Tim put a finger to the glass; no electric shock, but Tim would guess it was probably bulletproof or something like that. It didn’t feel like glass, but more plasticy, so maybe a polymer? There were no holes to let air in, so there must be a vent somewhere in the room. Tim leaned as close as he could to the glass, trying to look into the hallway. Three other cells, making it four total. They either weren’t expecting many guests or there were cells in another part of the building. There was a door at one end of the hall, but nothing but all at the other end. One way in, one way out. He couldn’t see any windows, but the air didn't taste stale, so they must have been pumping it from outside. Tim looked at the lock on the outside of the cell opposite him. Card key lock and a passcode. Impossible to hack from the inside.

Tim walked back to the cot and sat down, trying to think of a way out of this. He had no gear, in a nearly impossible to break out of cell, with no idea where he was or if Batman and the others were anywhere close to finding him. They would come for him eventually, but these guys seemed to be smart, so it might take a while for Batman to get a lead on the trail. In the meantime, he could be tortured and drugged, depending on what these guys wanted.

That was what was eating Tim the most; he had no idea who this was, or what they wanted. It certainly wasn’t Joker, and it didn't feel like anyone he’d dealt with before. It might be Ra's, but he had a little more class and drama than whitewashed cement. He would have gone for stone and metal bars, or a cushy suite with drapings and tacky tapestries, if he wanted to win Tim over.

Tim sighed and laid back down on the cot, closing his eyes and trying to get a nap in. If he was going to be stuck here, he could use the time to catch up on some sleep.

Maybe an hour later, the door at the end of the hall opened and a group of five came in. Tim sat up and took stock; three thug types (they must have a policy to work in threes), one scientist type, and one guy in a business suit. The sight of business guy automatically put Tim’s teeth on edge; he was maybe Bruce’s age, but had the douchey haircut of a guy maybe half his age and the swagger of a man who was used to getting what he wanted. Tim had dealt with guys like this before when he worked at WE, but they were usually less kidnap-y.

“Mr. Drake,” business suit greeted, grinning widely, showing off perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth (braces as a kid, spent way too much money on teeth whitening), “Sorry about the wait, I had some things to take care of. Have you been comfortable?”

Tim didn’t answer right away, eyeing business suit suspiciously. Scientist jotted something down on a clipboard. The thugs didn’t move, looking perfectly uninterested, but alert to his movements.

Business suit was still waiting for an answer, “I could use a blanket,” Tim said, trying to gauge him.

Business suit laughed, “I’m certain you could, Mr. Drake,” he said, “Unfortunately, you’re a very skilled young man, and I would rather not take a chance that you might use it to escape somehow.”

“You’re confidence in my abilities is flattering,” Tim said, adopting a flat, sarcastic tone.

“You should be flattered,” Business suit said, leaning forward, eager and bright eyed, “You deserve it, Mr. Drake.”

So these guys wanted him to work for them. Interesting, “I’d like to be thankful, but it’s rather hard to be thankful from inside a cell.”

“And I would love to let you out, Mr. Drake,” business suit said, putting a hand to his chest in a performance of sincerity, “But you can’t be trusted right now. It might be a while before we can let you roam freely.”

He was certainly confident that Tim would be converted to whatever cause he was going to try and sell him in a minute. Tim waited.

“You see Mr. Drake, I’m trying to create a new world order, and I’d like you to help me.”

Bingo.

“And that order put you somewhere at the top, I’m guessing,” Tim asked. He was already bored.

Business suit shrugged, “I’m more of a behind the scenes kind of guy. Easier to let someone with a bigger ego take the stage and get all the attention on him, and pull the strings from the shadows. Smarter too, you know what I’m talking about.”

That was a little unexpected, usually these types wanted the top spot, all the attention and power in the world. This guy was smarter than that. Damn, Tim was going to have to do some work.

“I suppose,” Tim said cautiously, “What exactly is this new order you want?” Step 2: appeal to ego.

Business suit hummed and paced along the glass, “It’s a bit complex, I’m not sure I can break it down.” He stopped seemed to think about it for a moment, “Alright, here goes. Basically, the whole world is a mess, but it’s a mess that can turn a hell of a profit, so long as the right people are put in the right places. What I need you to do is make sure those people get to their right places and stay there. I’m a smart man, Tim (can I call you Tim?), but I’m more of an accountant. I make money move, not people. You, on the other hand, are the smartest detective in the world. You have a unique skillset that makes you perfect to headhunt, get blackmail, manipulate the system, and take out anyone who gets in the way.” He turned back to Tim, “Does that make sense.”

Tim processed for a moment, “You want me to be the brains and brawn of your operation while you sit back and reap the benefits.”

“You’d have plenty of benefits yourself, and I’ll hardly be idle,” business suit said, waving a hand dismissively, “The rich are finicky about their money and where it ends up.”

“How generous of you.” Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “What makes you so sure I’ll join your little crusade?”

Business suit’s grin turned nasty, “I’ve worked in a lot of places Tim, and it’s put me in contact with a lot of interesting people. Dr. Haverford here, for instance,” he indicated the scientist that had come in with him, “is a brilliant psychologist who’s done extensive research on memory and trauma, and how it can be used to shape a person. There’s also Dr. Collin, who couldn’t be here at the moment, who has the most brilliant command of drugs that I’ve ever known. Together, I think they can persuade you to work with me.”

Tim glanced at Dr. Haverford, who had been taking notes the entire he’d been talking to business suit. He suddenly had to suppress a laugh, “That’s your big plan? Torture me with mind games and drugs until you get what you want? I’ve dealt with psychologists gone rogue and nutters with chemistry degrees since I was thirteen, and you think you can make me shake in my boots with that? You’ve lost your touch, I’m no longer flattered.”

Business suit threw back his head and laughed, “You’re a cheeky one, I’ll give you that,” he said, waggling his finger at Tim, “It’s torture, yes, but I don’t think I explained it quite well enough. My mistake, I apologize.”

He leaned in close, resting his arm against the glass, looking Tim up and down in a way that made Tim’s skin crawl, “We’re going to torture you and brainwash you, of course, there’s no denying that, but it’s not so you’ll be docile and compliant. That’s really the last thing I want. I don't need to believe in my cause, I need to believe in  _ me _ . I need you to  _ need _ me, to need my approval, my acceptance, my love. Once you need me, you’ll do anything I say, anything I tell you to, because you’ll love me. I’ll be the father you never knew you needed, and you’ll be the perfect son, and together we’ll rule the world.”

Tim wanted to be sick, “You’re crazy if you think that will work,” he said, “If you think I’ll ever love you, you must be crazier than I thought you were.”

Business suit chuckled again, “Well, I didn’t say it would be easy, but I’m a patient man, I can wait for you to come around.” He started walking towards the door, the scientist and the thugs following him, “I have to leave soon, but I’ve instructed everyone to take good care of you while I’m gone. Behave, and they’ll be nice about it.”

Tim watched him go, “You never introduced yourself,” he called, “That’s incredibly rude.” When he got out of here, he would need a name to start hunting him and all of his resources down.

Business suit turned back, one hand on the handle of the door, “You’re right, I’m sorry.” he was still grinning and Tim wanted to slap it off his face, “You can just go ahead and call me ‘Dad’.” Then he turned and left the hallway with the rest of his cronies.

Tim sat back down on the cot. He really hoped Bruce found him soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally know what happened to Tim! And it's not very nice at all.


	5. Pineapples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was initially stuck at the beginning of this chapter, but then I closed the tab that had tumblr open on it and figured it out. I'm actually pretty happy with how it turned out in the end. It got a little long again, but I think that's forgivable since we're getting into the meat of the fic anyway.

“It isn’t Tim?” Dick couldn’t believe his ears. Was this really happening?

“ _ The body you brought me is not Tim Drake _ ,” Leslie said over the Batcomputer, “ _ I’m running DNA and fingerprints now, but since I pulled this kid’s spleen out of his abdominal cavity, I’m pretty sure he’s not our boy _ .”

Bruce was pacing around, agitated and looking ready to snap, “We were tricked,” he said through clenched teeth.

Alfred gripped the back of the chair at the workbench and slowly sank into it, “Oh thank heavens,” he muttered to himself.

“Oh, the Joker is  _ so _ paying dearly for this,” Steph snarled, “I’m going to rip his eyeballs out.”

“Get in line,” Cass hissed, as agitated as Bruce, but standing still.

Bruce grumbled something and Dick could see the situation devolving fast, “Are we really sure this was the Joker?” he blurted out.

Six sets of eyes settled on him, “I mean, I was never sure this was the Joker in the first place. Things just didn’t add up. When Jason and I were at the alley earlier, the bullets had been dug out of the brick. Does that sound like the Joker to you?”

Bruce frowned, his mind working it over, “It doesn’t,” he admitted.

“Drake said something about the thugs we encountered not acting like Joker thugs,” Damian piped up, “He said they seemed like professionals. He was right, they tried to flank us rather than chase us.”

“Pros aren’t really Joker’s usual hires. He usually hires cannon fodder, not guys who actually know what they’re doing,” Barbara said, “And it’s not hard to fake being a Joker thug, really. Put an animal mask on someone and hey! You’ve got yourself a Joker thug.”

“So, whoever did this used the Joker as a scapegoat, so we would chase our tails looking for him while they covered their ass,” Steph said, “Fucker.”

“Jason,” Cass pointed out, “How did they know?”

Dick hummed, “That’s a good point. Whoever did this knew details about Jason’s death that only we do. The crowbar, the warehouse, the explosion, that would have had to come from one of us. Even if you got the Joker to talk about it, you can’t trust him to be truthful. He changes the story every time he tells it.”

Bruce turned to look at all of them, “It could only be one of us,” he growled, then had a thought, “Or the person who did the autopsy on Jason.”

“ _ Hey _ !” Leslie protested, “ _ I haven’t told anyone what happened to Jason. There’s not even a physical record that’s truthful. I listed the cause of death as a blow to the head from the debris falling on him. I skipped over the crowbar stuff entirely. _ ”

“So the only real information is in your head,” Barbara said, “No way someone could get to it.”

“Not necessarily,” Alfred said, standing up, having collected himself, “There are those with telepathic abilities that would be able to access memories like that, and unfortunately, some of those people lend their services for hire.”

There was an uncomfortable silence from over the phone, “ _ That . . . I had a strange dream some time ago _ ,” Leslie admitted.

“What sort of dream?” Bruce asked.

“ _ I dreamed about the autopsy. Jason’s. I kept going over and over the details of it, like I was trying to memorise them somehow. I woke up with a splitting headache the next morning, but I didn’t think anything of it. _ ”

“You didn’t think it was strange to dream about Jason’s autopsy?” Steph asked a little incredulously.

“ _ Did I think that a telepath was invading my brain to get details about Jason’s death so they could recreate it with a decoy Tim _ ?” You could  _ hear _ the eyeroll in Leslie’s voice, “ _ No, it didn’t really cross my mind _ .”

“When was this?” Bruce asked.

“ _ Like, five months ago _ ,” Leslie said.

“So they’ve been planning this for a while,” Dick said, “They’ve probably been watching us.”

Bruce hissed through his teeth, leaning on the command console for the Batcomputer, taking deep breaths. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like a God damned  _ idiot _ . Of course it wasn’t the Joker, of course it wasn’t Tim. He’d let his emotions blind him, and now whoever had Tim had a four day head start on them. If these guys were as smart as they seemed to be, that was more than enough time to cover their tracks.

Bruce whirled and slammed his fist into the back of the chair. It snapped back with a crash, coming out of its track in the floor. The others jumped a little, startled by the noise.

“It doesn’t matter how long they’ve been planning,” he growled, “It doesn’t matter who they’ve hired, and it doesn’t matter how much of a head start they have, because we’re going to  _ find _ them and bring them to Justice.” He stood tall, feeling the anger and rage direct itself to a goal, “We’re going to get Tim back.”

In six sets of eyes, the eyes of his family, Bruce saw his own determined resolution mirrored back at him.

* * *

 

Food arrived at Tim’s cell some time after business suit had left (Tim refused to call him ‘Dad’, even in his head). According to Tim’s internal clock, it was somewhere around mid afternoon, so either they were feeding him because he was awake, or they were in a different time zone and it was now lunch where they were.

The food looked like it was probably lunch. A sandwich; ham, lettuce, and tomato on brown bread, and a few fries on the side with a tall glass of water. It had been delivered via someone in a white coat (not a lab coat, possibly a kitchen worker) and three thug types with their weapons drawn (confirming Tim’s suspicious about these guys working in threes). There was a sliding panel in the glass off to one side, but it was barely big enough for the food, so no luck escaping there. It was a weak point in the glass, so he wasn’t out of hope yet.

Tim picked at the food for a while. They were pretty candid about their use of drugs so far, so he didn't think they would drug his food (at least not without telling him), but he couldn’t be sure. His stomach was growling, and it wasn’t like he had a lot of options, so he ate what he was given. It didn't taste like it was drugged, at least.

After that, Tim was left alone with his thoughts. He spotted the vents that let air into the room; there were four, one in each corner near the ceiling, and they might be big enough to stick an arm through. There were four more vents near the floor, but they were just as small and probably for heating. Tim walked around the room. Six steps from the back wall to the glass (five if you went from the cot), and eight steps from one end of the cell to the other. Not a lot of room, but there was nothing but the cot and the little bathroom alcove, so it didn’t matter much.

Tim studied the lock on the other side of the hall. It looked like it was pretty standard, you needed a card key and a passcode to open the door and the little slot where they slipped the food in. The cards were clipped to the front of everyone’s coats and on those little retractable strings, so it was the code that probably differentiated whether or not you opened the door or the slot. It was pretty easily hackable, but you had to be able to reach it, and you couldn’t do that from inside the cell.

So Tim was left with nothing to do until someone came and tortured him or came to talk to him again, but he was pretty sure that he was going to be stuck in solitary confinement rather than have someone come entertain him. He resigned himself to being very bored for the foreseeable future.

Dinner arrived some hours later; mashed potatoes, a pork chop, and green beans. So far he hadn’t felt any drug effects from the first meal, so he didn’t bother picking around with it. They first demanded that he give them his old plate and utensils, putting them near the slot so they could be exchanged for the new plate (all of it flimsy plastic, not a good weapon). Potatoes seemed to be the only common things between the meals, which was smart actually, seeming how easy it was to keep someone healthy on a diet of potatoes.

A few hours later, someone came to collect his plate (again with three armed thugs), and as soon as they left, the lights went out. It was pitch black in the hallway, with the only thing visible being the blinking lights from the security cameras in the hall. Guess that meant it was time to sleep.

This went on for another day. Tim was left alone for hours, with no one to interact with aside from the people who brought him food. They didn't look him in the eyes, so Tim guessed they were told not to speak to him. He tried once, at lunch the next day, but they didn't react, didn't speak to him unless to instruct him to put his dishes near the slot (he was right about the food at least. Each meal had some kind of potato to go along with it).

On the morning of the third day, some time after breakfast, two lab coats came in, accompanied by the customary three thugs, “Turn and put your hands on the wall,” one of the thugs instructed.

Finally.

Tim did as he was told, keeping an eye over his shoulder without making it obvious. The thugs were armed, so making a move to escape would be monumentally stupid. He’d just have to play along. Two thugs came up behind him; one patted him down for anything concealed, and then a hood was put over his head. They took hold of his arms and marched him out of the room.

Doing his best to keep track of the amount of steps and turns they they were taking, Tim tried to keep his heart rate low. He was heading into certain torture, but Bruce had trained him to resist all kinds of torture. He could hold out. He didn’t know how long he would last, but he only had to last until the others found him.

Hopefully that would be soon.

They came to a cool room and Tim was forced down into a chair. His arms and legs were strapped down, but they left his torso alone. The hood was removed and Tim looked around. They were in a lab, with a spotlight on him and the chair, most of the rest of the room cast in shadow, making it hard for him to get a good look. There was movement, white lab coats milling about, male voices talking quietly (Tim couldn’t pick out any recognizably female voices, so on top of being a kidnapping creep, business suit was a chauvinist). There was a table to Tim’s left, with a dozen and a half syringes laid out on it, as well as a few other tools. Tim’s skin tingled if he thought too long about what they were for.

Tim tested his bonds; stiff, new leather bindings, with sturdy buckles. He wasn’t getting out of these without some real work. The chair was metal, cold even through the heavy material of his shift, but there were few hard edges. They didn't want him to hurt himself, it looked like.

Two figures stepped into the circle of light around Tim. He recognized one of them, “Dr. Haverford and Dr. Colin, I’m guessing?” he asked.

“Hello Mr. Drake,” Dr. Haverford said. His voice was calm and even, soothing and strangely hypnotic, “How’s your leg?”

Dr. Haverford was a tall, willowy, white man with a rather impressive mustache, maybe in his sixties. His hair and mustache were both salt and pepper grey, heavy on the salt. Dr. Collin was much younger, brown hair, and maybe of mixed heritage? It was hard to say with the lights the way they were, but Tim might guess he had some Latin or South Asian background. He was shorter than Dr. Haverford, but wider in the shoulders. He might be muscular under his clothes, but he could just have a wide frame.

“My leg is fine, thank you,” Tim said. His voice was a little scratchy from disuse.

Dr. Colin stepped forward into the light and lifted the shift to get a look at the bandages. Definitely of South Asian descent on at least one side of his family. He carefully unwrapped the wound and checked it over. The wound was clean and pink, “It’s healing nicely,” he said in accented English. Quebecois accented English.

“That’s very good,” Dr. Haverford said, “We worried about it a little. It looked like it was going to get infected.”

“Well, that’s life when you don’t have a spleen,” Tim said with a shrug.

Dr. Colin re-bandaged his leg after carefully applying some ointment to the stitches. He stepped back and went to the table of syringes. Tim tensed as he lifted one, checking the contents. He made his way to Tim’s side again, “Relax,” he ordered as he slide the needle into Tim’s neck, “There’s no use fighting it.”

“Go to hell,” Tim snarled, jerking his head away. The syringe slipped a little and Dr. Clin grabbed his hair to still him. He pressed the needle in again and pushed the plunger.

Tim didn't feel anything at first, but slowly he realized the edges of his vision were starting to swirl. The voices from the edges of the room blended together into a strange hum. A hallucinogen? Just perfect. He  _ totally _ needed to watch the ceiling melt right now.

“Let’s talk about your family Tim,” Dr. Haverford’s voice cut through the buzzing in his ears, “Tell me about them.”

Tim giggled, sounding a little hysterical, “You know who I am, but you don't know who they are? That doesn’t seem likely.”

“It’s not that we don't know who they are, Mr. Drake, we just don’t care. The only people that know the identities of Gotham’s vigilantes are myself, our benefactor, and a few investigators who have been terminated accordingly. Your father doesn’t want such a priceless secret getting into the wrong hands, not until he can sell it.”

It took Tim a moment to realize that Dr. Haverford was referring to business suit, not Bruce or his biological father, “He’s not my father,” Tim snarled.

“He will be,” Dr. Haverford said, and Tim had to work hard not to be sucked into a state of calm by the doctor’s soothing, hypnotic voice.

* * *

 

Jason sighed and closed the door behind him. It had been nearly two days straight of hunting the Joker, and he still had no leads. Going to the sink, Jason turned the water on and began washing the blood from his hands. The latest interrogation victim was unconscious in the other room, and four straight hours of Jason trying to pry the information out of him hadn’t worked. He was either very loyal to the Joker, or he didn’t know a damn thing.

Just like the last six.

Cursing under his breath, Jason searched around for a clean glass. He managed to find one and filled it. He chugged down the first glass, filled it again, and took small sips of it. Leaning against the counter, Jason patted through his pockets until he pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. He’d been on the road to quitting, before Tim . . . but in the last three days, he’d smoked maybe a pack a day. Tim had bombarded him with pamphlet after powerpoint after scientific journal of compiled studies of what smoking did to the body and all the ways it could kill him if he continued to smoke.

At first, he’d just made empty promises to get the kid off his back, but after a while he actually started smoking less, at least when he was around the kid, guilt tripped into it by those damn big blue eyes of his. After that, he’d just kept going, kept reducing the amount of cigarettes he smoked until he’d been down to nearly one every other day. Tim had been annoyingly pleased with himself for getting Jason to stop smoking so much, in that way he always was. He never  _ said _ anything, but he held his head high and gave off a self-satisfied air, with annoying smug smirks that Jason had wanted to slap right off the little replacement’s face.

Jason would give anything to see that smirk again.

“I thought you were quitting?” Nightwing asked, crawling in through the window.

Jason hissed out some smoke between his teeth, “Don’t you guys ever use doors? You gotta Robin Hood your way through windows all the time?”

Nightwing landed on the floor with a ridiculously complicated somersault, “Where did you think the name Robin came from, ‘Hood’?” he asked, way too cheerful for Jason’s taste.

Jason rolled his eyes behind his domino, “Is there something you needed, I’m a little busy.”

Nightwing’s eyes darted to the the flecks of blood across Jason’s clothes, “I can see that,” he said with a distasteful wrinkle of his nose.

Jason growled, flicking half finished cigarette at Nightwing’s chest, “Bitch all you want, at least I’m out here  _ looking _ for that shitbag. And  _ no _ , I haven’t killed anyone, so you can run back to daddy and tell him that I’m still a good little boy. He just better hope that he gets his hands on that clown before I do, if he ever wants to identify the body.”

He turned to go back to the back room, ostensibly to check on his ‘guest’, but really he just wanted to get away from Dick. He couldn’t handle being around them right now. Knowing Dick, he wanted to do something stupid like ‘talk his feelings out’ or some such bullshit. He didn't need to talk, he needed to  _ act _ , he needed to bring Tim’s killer to justice.

“It wasn't Tim.”

Jason stopped, “What?” He turned back to Dick.

“We’ve been trying to catch up with you for days trying to tell you,” Dick said, his eyes bright behind his mask, “The body we found, it wasn’t Tim. It was Tim’s uniform, even his underclothes, but the body, he had a spleen.”

“A spleen?” Jason asked, not sure he was believing what he was hearing.

Dick nodded, “He had a spleen, Tim had his removed, remember?”

Jason’s heart started to speed up with excitement, “Did you check the DNA?”

“Yeah, not a match,” Dick was grinning now, “Fingerprints are different too. Whoever it was, it wasn't Tim.”

Jason paced around; he wanted to believe Dick, but he couldn’t let himself hope, “What about the Joker?”

“A scapegoat,” Dick said, watching Jason pace, “Something to keep us distracted while they got Tim out of the city. They must have a telepath on their side that lifted the details of . . . they got the details from Leslie to trick us, make us think it could only be the Joker.”

“Are we sure it’s not?” Jason snarled, but the pieces were already putting themselves into place. He wasn't the best investigator of the family by far, but he had been trained by the best, and even he could put two and two together.

“Come on Hood,” Dick said, “You know better than all of us aside from Batman what the Joker is like. We were skeptical that this was him from day one. After making your way through his lackeys and finding nothing, can you honestly say the Joker had anything to do with this.”

Jason’s eyes flicked to the closed door to the back room. Seven different known associates of the Joker’s and not one of them knew a damn thing. There was no way the Joker could pull something like that off. If he was planning something, someone would know about it, or otherwise he’d been planning for a long time, and he’d only been out of Arkham for a few months. There was no way he could pull something like this off so soon after getting out. Even then, someone always knew something, even if they didn't know they did. There had been absolutely no chatter about something big like this going down. And this was all assuming the Joker wanted to keep things on the downlow, instead of throwing it back in their faces like he usually did. It just wasn’t his style.

They’d been made for dupes.

“Whoever did this better not be too attached to their eyeballs,” Jason snarled, “Because I’m going to rip them out of his useless skull.”

Dick chuckled, “You’re going to have to fight Batgirl for ‘em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Business suit better watch out for his eyeballs, the Fam is coming for 'em.


	6. Peaches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters keep getting longer and longer, but there was lots to do here. I finished this last night while I was at work, but I didn't get to post it until now. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, y'all are some of the nicest commenters I've ever had on a fic. You guys are great and I love you.

The first few days of ‘torture’ were less than Tim expected, but looking back on them he wasn’t surprised. It was mostly Dr. Haverford probing his brain, trying to find weak spots in his psyche, along with Dr. Colin testing out different concoctions of drugs on him, trying to loosen his tongue a little more each time. Tim guessed the drugs were mostly a combination of hallucinogens and truth serum type drugs, getting him to answer Dr. Haverford’s questions more accurately while blurring the edges of reality around him.

So the first few days were intense, but not in a ‘torture’ kind of way that he was used to. The most intense part of it was when he had a bad reaction to one of the drug mixes and started going into shock. He’d woken up in his cell, tired and with a splitting headache, but no worse for wear in the long run. The worst of it was knowing that more was coming, and that it was only a matter of time before the real torture began, just as soon as Dr. Haverford gathered enough data on his brain. His only comfort was knowing that the goal was not to kill him, so he wasn't in danger of being offed any time soon.

In between torture sessions were long periods of time where he was left to himself. Days went by with no human contact aside from the people who came to feed him. That was almost worse than the torture, being alone with his thoughts. It was a surprisingly effective tactic, he had to admit, since he was a little more eager to talk to Dr. Haverford after being alone for so long that he might be otherwise. Humans were inherently social creatures, and Tim was being deprived of any social contact outside of the torture sessions.

About three weeks after he first arrived, Tim was taken back to the lab and he could tell that something was different this time. There was a more intense air now, and Tim had the distinct feeling that things were about to get serious.

“Good afternoon Tim.” Dr. Haverford stepped out from the shadows, “Shall we begin?”

“I’d rather not,” Tim said. Even after these few weeks, he was still snapping back with biting sarcasm. He’d be damned if he let his sharp wit be dulled any time soon.

Dr. Haverford’s mouth didn't even twitch, but Dr. Colin let out a snort. Tim might be able to use that. He’d since stopped tensing when the needle pricked his neck, knowing it was useless to struggle and it would only end up with him getting stabbed multiple times.

Tim’s vision started to swim almost immediately, the light and shadows melding together and creating figures that Tim couldn’t see when he focused on them, skirting the edges of his perception. He kept his breathing even and tried to focus on Dr. Haverford.

“Let’s talk about your parents Tim,” Dr. Haverford started, voice lulling Tim into a strange anxious calm, “They used to leave you alone so much when you were a child.”

“They were busy,” Tim said before his brain could tell him not to, “They liked to travel.”

“And they never took you with them, though it would have been simple for them,” Dr. Haverford said, “Do you think perhaps that they didn’t want to be around you?”

“No, they loved me.” Tim squeezed his eyes shut, “I know that they loved me. They did their best.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Haverford asked, and Tim’s world began to tip sideways, “Can you think of a time when you doubted that love?”

The world spun around Tim and he was suddenly in his bedroom. His first bedroom, from when he was little, no more than four years old.  _ There was a storm outside, and it was so loud that it woke Tim up. Thunder and lightning crashed above the house, making Tim jump. The wind howled through the trees, sounding angry and mournful at the same time, rattling his window like it was trying to get in. Tim curled the sheets around him, trying to block out the frightening noise. Another crash of lightning made him bolt upright. _

_ Mom and Dad would protect him from the scary noises. He was sure of it. He just had to go to them and they would keep him safe. _

_ Slowly, Tim struggled out of bed, bare feet touching the carpeted floor. He padded to the door and took a minute trying to open in because the doorknob was so high and he was so small. He finally got out into the hallway and made his way across the cold hardwood, nearly silent next the the howling outside. _

_ Mom and Dad’s door was open, and he could hear them talking. Mom said it was rude to interrupt someone when they were having a conversation, so Tim decided to wait until they were finished, crouched by the door, listening. _

_ “ . . . don’t know why you didn’t just tell me, Janet.” Dad sounded annoyed. _

_ “I don't see how it was your decision at all.” Mom was just as annoyed, but she sounded tired somehow, “It’s my body.” _

_ “You should have at least told me,” Dad said, “I deserved to know about it.” _

_ Mom sighed, “I’m sorry Jack, but I just didn’t want . . .” she trailed off. _

_ “You didn’t want another kid?” Dad asked, “Why not? I think it would be good for Tim to have a sibling. Someone to play with while we’re gone.” _

_ Mom made a disgusted sound, “You want another kid so badly,  _ you _ pop it out.” _

_ “Oh come on, it wasn't that bad,” Dad said. There was a long pause before either of them spoke again, “Were you really that miserable?” Dad asked, so quiet Tim almost missed it. _

_ Mom didn't answer for a moment, “Jack, we don't have the time for another kid right now anyway. We travel too much for me to be heaving around a baby in my gut.” _

_ “You could take a break from travelling,” Dad pointed out. _

_ “Oh, you are  _ not _ leaving me behind,” Mom sounded angry now, “I’m not going to sit at home and wait for you while you're off having adventures while I play housewife. I told you right at the start I’m not that kind of woman.” _

_ “I know, I’m sorry,” Dad said, and there was a shuffle of fabric, “I just thought it would be nice to have more kids.” _

_ There was a long pause, and Tim almost came out of his hiding spot, thinking they were done talking, when Dad asked, “Janet, did you even want Tim in the first place?” _

_ Mom didn’t answer, or if she did, Tim didn’t hear it, because he was heading back to his room. He closed the door behind him and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over his head. Somehow, the storm outside didn't seem so scary anymore. _

Tim shook his head, trying to clear the memory from his head. He’d completely forgotten that, or blocked it somehow. He remembered knowing at some point that he wasn’t going to ever have a sibling, but he never knew why he knew that.

When Tim looked up, Dr. Haverford was smiling. Had he said all of that out loud? He couldn’t remember if he’d been talking or not.

“Very good Tim,” Dr. Haverford said, and there was another pin prick in his neck, “Let’s continue.”

* * *

 

The weeks were ticking by, and there were no leads on Tim’s whereabouts. In the meantime, Gotham was still her crazy self that needed her Dark Knight to clean up the streets, eating up more time than any of them liked. Even with the entire family taking shifts on who was working Gotham cases and who was working Tim’s case, they were no closer to finding Tim than they had been earlier in the month.

The corpse that had taken Tim’s place had offered no clues in the long run. DNA and fingerprints didn't turn up much in regular databases, but Bruce had managed to pull up hospital records with the body’s footprint and got a match on a birth record. The body had once belonged to a James Oliver Jeffords, eighteen years old, on a gymnastics scholarship in Metropolis, and bearing an uncanny resemblance to one Timothy Jackson Drake. They might have mistaken the two for one another even without how bashed up James’ face had been. He’d gone missing two weeks before Tim had been taken, and his family had been distraught to learn of his demise. His body had been returned to his family, funeral paid for by an anonymous donor. Despite extensive investigation, and even calling in a few favours from a certain alien that Bruce knew, nothing turned up to point them in any sort of direction. One day, James didn't come to practise, and since he lived alone and it had been a long weekend, there was no way to say when or where he’d been taken. It was a complete dead end.

It was driving Damian mad.

As the days ticked by, the realization that they were no closer to finding Tim grated on Damian like sandpaper. He couldn’t focus on anything else at this point, even his work was starting to get sloppy.

“Robin!” Batman shouted as the thug went down, “What did I tell you about headshots?”

Robin gritted his teeth, “Sorry, Batman,” he said. His whole body was tense as a bowstring. He wanted to thrash the thug some more for taking time away from finding Tim.

Batman eyed him critically, but said nothing else on the matter. They went about their night, stopping petty criminals and taking a few detours to foil whatever plot Penguin had cooked up (Damian wasn't really paying attention, just putting his fists into faces). The only time Damian felt even the tiniest bit excited about the night was when they followed up on a possible lead to where Tim might have been taken in the city before getting carried off, but it was another dead end and Damian seethed internally.

Damian remained tense in the car as they drove home. His foot tapped impatiently and he crossed his arms, as though trying to contain his frustration and failing to. Bruce let out a long sigh.

“I know you’re upset Robin, but you can’t let it get to you. If you let your emotions get in the way, you’ll only make mistakes and be of no use to Red Robin,” he said.

Damian snorted, “That’s easy for you to say,” he snapped, then said more sullenly, “It wasn’t your fault that he was taken.”

Bruce’s jaw ticked, the only visible emotion under the cowl, “It’s not your fault Robin. No one blames you.”

“ _ I _ blame me,” Damian snapped, “It’s my fault Drake got kidnapped and it’s my duty to get him back. I should be out looking for him  _ right now _ , but instead I’m getting a lecture from an old man about  _ feelings _ .”

The car swerved to the side of the road and jerked to a stop so suddenly that Damian’s seatbelt snapped tight to his chest. Batman put the car in park and turned to face him in his seat. Damian suddenly felt very small.

“Do you think it’s not  _ killing _ me inside as well?” Bruce asked, hand tight on the steering wheel, “I want to find Tim and bring him home more than  _ anything _ in the world, but I also have a duty to the city I swore to protect. What do you think Tim would say if we let the city go to pieces while we looked for him?”

Damian didn't have to think about it very hard, “He’d be angry with us,” he said softly.

A moment of silence passed in the car, and Bruce let out a long sigh, “I know it’s frustrating, I  _ know _ you’re upset, but we don't live in a perfect world. There are people who need us just as much as Tim does, and we can’t abandon them.” He turned back in his seat and started driving again, “We  _ will _ find Tim, Damian, I promise.”

Damian slumped back in his seat, feeling very drained all of a sudden, “I know we will,” he said, “I just wish I knew if we are going to find Tim, or his body.”

Bruce said nothing for awhile, “I’m afraid of that too,” he said softly.

They arrived back at the Cave, the last ones to return. Dick, Steph, Jason, and Cass were all milling about the Batcomputer, Barbara at the keys, typing away while Dick massaged her shoulders. Alfred was busy repairing Steph’s cape, but there was already a mostly demolished platter of sandwiches, cookies, and scones set out, with two full mugs set on a heating plate to keep them warm (coffee in one, hot chocolate in another).

“Report,” Bruce ordered, coming up the steps from the Batmobile, Damian at his heels. He snagged the coffee mug before Bruce lifted it out of his hands and handed him the hot chocolate.

“I think Two Face is planning something by pier twenty-two,” Dick said, not stopping his massage, “I encountered a few guys who’ve worked for him in the past down there, but they weren’t talking much. I think we should monitor the situation before we make a move.”

Bruce nodded, “Good,” he said as he took a sip of coffee, “Red Hood?”

Jason shrugged, “Not a whole lot to say,” he said, “Some ruffled feathers in a contested territory in the north, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s planning anything yet.”

“Big drug bust in Crime Alley,” Cass said, “Cocaine that was mostly plaster dust.”

“Not the brightest of the bunch, huh?” Jason said.

Bruce ignored him and turned to Steph, “You ran into trouble?” he asked. The tear in her cape the Alfred was repairing was quite large.

“Got into a scuffle with Killer Croc following up on something for Tim’s case. Would have been fine if, uh . . .” she scuffed her foot against the floor and looked a bit embarrassed, “I may have made him mad by making a crack about him wearing Crocs.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a half second, “Crocs.”

“Yeah, they’re these ugly rubber shoes—”

“I know what Crocs are, Stephanie, thank you,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose while Jason sniggered, “Good work all of you,” he said tiredly.

Damian growled, “And what about the lead!” he demanded, slamming his mug down and splashing hot chocolate over a blueberry scone, “Did you find anything on Tim?”

The startled look on Steph’s face melted into one of sadness, “Nothing. Sorry Damian.”

Damian felt a fresh wave of anger, “It has been weeks!” he shouted at them, “Not one of you has found anything useful! All of you are  _ useless! _ ” He threw his mug in a fit of bottled frustration, feeling the momentary satisfaction of having it shatter against the ground, sending glass and hot chocolate flying.

“Master Damian,” Alfred chastised, and Damian felt the satisfaction leave, “Perhaps you should go upstairs to calm down,” he suggested.

Every eye in the room was on him, watching him with a mixture of annoyance and pity. Shame curled in Damian’s stomach and he turned and quickly stomped over to the changing room.

Dick took a step like he was about to follow when Cass put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, “No.” She shook her head, “Let him calm down.”

Damian slammed the door to his bedroom, startling Alfred (the cat) from sleep. He felt a little bad, but he was too mad right now. He stalked around his room, trying to think of an outlet to get his anger out. What he really wanted to do was go back out into the city and beat people up until someone told him  _ something _ that led him to Tim. Just thinking of all the things that could be happening to Tim right now made his blood boil. Mother had taught him (or rather had someone else teach him) all of the different ways you could torture someone, which ones were most effective for different goals, and torture was one of the  _ nicer _ things that could have happened to Tim at this point.

With a cry of frustration, Damian lashed out and knocked something off his dresser, listening to the crash. He was just about to do it again when he saw what it was; a picture frame with the entire family in it. It had been taken at Bruce’s last birthday, when all of them were finally in the house together. Dick had insisted on a photo, and had arranged everyone. In the photo, Damian and Tim were next to each other, unsubtly side eyeing one another. Dick had passed out copies to everyone, saying they should all have a photo of the entire family. It was the only picture aside from the large portrait that Bruce had commissioned (and Damian finished) that had both Tim and Damian together.

Damian sighed and started picking up the splintered wood and broken glass. The photo was undamaged at least. Damian turned it over in his hands and stared at the paper Tim. Damian didn't remember what he’d said to Tim that day, but he remembered trying to get a rise out him for no particular reason, but Tim had given as good as he got. It showed in the photo, they were both glaring at each other, clearly annoyed but trying to hide it for the photo.

There was a knock at the door and Damian looked up. Setting the photo aside, he went to the door and opened it, expecting it to be Dick or his father, or even Alfred. Imagine his surprise when he saw Jason standing on the other side of the door.

“Hey demon brat,” Jason said, “Feeling better?”

Damian glared, “What do you want, Todd?” he demanded.

Jason raised an eyebrow, “To check on my little brother? You kind of stormed off in a huff, kid.”

Damian snorted, “You’re the one who tries the least to be a part of this ‘family’,” he said, “Did Grayson put you up to this?”

Jason rolled his eyes and pushed his way into Damian’s room, using his bulk to his advantage, “No, Dickhead didn't put me up to this.” He sat down on Damian’s bed, picking up the photo Damian had left behind and frowning at it, “I was worried about you.”

Damain felt his face heat and snatched the photo out of Jason’s hands, “I’m  _ fine _ ,” he hissed.

“Clearly,” Jason deadpanned, “You need to talk?”

“Tt- I would have expected this from Grayson, but not you,” Damian sneered, “You’re not the type to want to talk about his emotions.”

Jason shrugged, “I use ‘talk’ in this instance to mean ‘spar’. You look like you need to work off some steam, and sometimes you need a kick in the ass more than a hug.”

Damian stopped for a moment, thinking about it, “Alright, but I will not go easy on you.”

Jason snorted and stood up, “Sure kid,” he said.

They made their way back down to the Cave, neither of them speaking. Damian was still a little wired, but Jason seemed more at ease. Did he not care about Tim? Damian gritted his teeth; that wasn't fair, Jason had been more upset than all of them when they thought Tim was dead.

There was no one else in the Cave when they arrived, everyone else having gone to sleep, even Bruce. Damian glanced at the spot where he threw his mug and made a mental note to apologize to Alfred. He followed Jason to the sparring mats and started putting on the protective gear.

“Ready baby bird?” Jason asked, getting into a fighting stance.

In lieu of an answer, Damian launched himself at Jason, letting his rage fuel his attack. Jason was startled enough not to be able to dodge in time, but he could take a hit better than most of the others. It was like trying to punch an oak tree. Damian came at Jason with a flurry of kicks and punches, but Jason came back at him just as hard. It was times like this that Damian remembered that Jason had also been taught by the League of Assassins like him, and with his bigger size and having trained under The Batman for longer than Damian, he was a formidable opponent. Damian didn't have to worry about hurting him by accident.

After maybe an hour, the exhaustion from the night before slammed into Damian like a tonne of bricks. He landed off-balance and Jason seized the opportunity, striking out and pinning him on his back.

“Think that's that, baby bird,” Jason panted, looking pretty tired himself. He stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow, “Feel any better?”

Damian slowly got up, feeling the tiredness right down into his bones. When was the last time he’d gotten a good night's sleep?

“Damian?” Jason called, growing concerned by his silence, “You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?”

Bringing his knees up to his chest, Damian felt his eyes start to burn with tears, “It’s all my fault,” he said quietly.

“Aw shit,” Jason cursed, “I thought we covered this, kiddo. It wasn't your fault. The only person who’s fault it is is the person who was stupid enough to nab Tim.” He crouched down in front of Damian, “We’ll get him back, okay?”

Damian scrubbed furiously at his eyes, “But what if we don’t? What if we're too late and Tim’s already—” he cut himself off with a sob, unable to squash it down. The thin wire he’d been hanging on by had snapped.

Jason sighed and sat down next to Damian on the matt, “We don't know that,” he said quietly, “But I do know that, if he’s . . . if he  _ is _ , we’ll get the guy who did it. Screw what Bruce says, I'll put a bullet in their skull if they even  _ consider _ it.”

Damian sniffed, taking comfort in Jason’s presence for a few minutes. He was so big and solid and warm, he was one of the few people that made Damian feel his physical age. He always tried so hard to be older than he was, he sometimes forgot that he was only thirteen.

“You’re pretty broken up about this, huh?” Jason asked after a while.

“So?” Damian huffed, though it didn't have his usual haughty tone.

“Nothing, nothing, I’m just a little surprised is all,” Jason said, “You and Replacement always fought so much. I didn't think you even liked him.”

Damian felt his stomach clench, “It wasn't that,” he said softly, “I . . . do not  _ hate _ Drake, it’s just . . . I was jealous.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, “Jealous?” he asked.

Damian shrugged, “He really was a great Robin,” he admitted, “My grandfather only ever called two people ‘Detective’; Father and Drake. It’s a sign of great respect. He found out who Father was long before even meeting him face to face, and proved that Father was alive, even when no one believed him. He  _ earned _ Robin, and I . . .” Damian glared over the tops of his knees at nothing in particular, “I was  _ given _ Robin, because Grayson needed a way to keep an eye on me.” He burned his face into his knees, feeling fresh tears well up in his eyes, “He was chosen, Father got stuck with me.”

Jason watched Damian for a drawn out moment before letting out a long sigh. He wrapped an arm around Damian’s surprisingly broad shoulders and tugged him close, “Bruce never really chose any of us,” he said, “We all just kind of stumbled into him and he took us in. Dick just happened to lose his parents in an awful way that reminded Bruce of his own parents, so he took him in out of sympathy. I was some stupid kid who thought trying to jack the Batmobile was a great idea and got my dumbass caught, and he took me in out of pity. Tim . . . Tim sort of plopped himself down in front of Bruce and refused to leave, so I'm told.” Jason closed his eyes, trying not to think about the reason why Tim became Robin in the first place, “We’re a family of chance encounters. You fit in just fine.”

Damian sniffed and snuggled into Jason’s side, breathing in the smell of fine leather and cheap cigarettes. He swallowed thickly, “You tell anyone about this, I'll put you back in your grave.”

Jason chuckled, “Had to go an ruin it, didn't you, demon brat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I'm not using the girls that much, which is terrible of me, but they will get more scenes soon.
> 
> I always felt that Tim had some of the worst parents. I mean, they didn't hit him or whatever, but they were never around. It would have been so easy to just take him along with them and home school him and stuff, but they just left him home alone for weeks and months on end. I have this whole headcanon around Janet Drake and Tim's relationship, but it doesn't really fit into this fic. I might save it for a different fic.


	7. Plums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mainlined both Infinite Crisis and Identity Crisis in the middle of writing this chapter in order to get a better understanding of Tim's backstory. I'm still getting through Young Justice and I plan to read some other comics as well, but hopefully I did okay here.

_ Tim smelled stale popcorn and sawdust, a scent that would forever haunt him as he watched two people fall to their deaths. The Flying Graysons landed with a dull thud, one after the other, in a strange, final way. Four year old Tim waited a moment, waited for them to move, for it all to be a mistake, but the wretched scream of a boy some years older than him brought things into a sharp reality. _

_ Dad grabbed Tim’s shoulders and started pulling him away. Hadn’t he just taken a photo with those nice people, just before the show? He’d sat up on that boy’s knee, leant back against his chest, smiled at the camera. Hadn’t that just been an hour ago? Tim didn't understand. People who were dead were dead for a long time, like Grandpa, or Abraham Lincoln, they weren’t alive just an hour ago. _

_ “How terrible,” Mother said, walking along beside them. She looked so pale, “They seemed like such nice people.” _

_ “That poor boy,” Dad said, “I wonder what will happen to him.” _

_ Tim clung to Mother, burying his head into her thigh, trying to make sense of what had just happened, “Tim, don't cling like that, you’ll make me trip,” she told him, but rested her hand gently on the top of his head, making no further move to remove him. _

The memory shifted out of focus and Tim was left gasping for breath, sweating through his shift. He glared at Dr. Haverford.

“You see Tim? You step into other people’s tragedies without considering the consequences. You forced your way into Richard Grayson’s personal tragedy just like you forced your way into Batman’s life after he lost Robin. Your presence is a reminder of those tragedies,” Dr. Haverford told him, that hypnotic voice burrowing its way into Tim’s brain.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Tim panted, “I was four.”

Dr. Haverford sighed, “Tim, we won’t make any progress if you keep lying to yourself like this,” he said, “Let’s go again.”

A needle in his neck, Tim hissed and the world spun, sending him crashing through his memories once again.

* * *

 

_ Tim gasped for breath, sobbing into Batman’s chest, his foot sliding through his father’s blood. His hands hurt, cut from trying to pull out the boomerang that was lodged in his father’s chest. He should have stayed, he should have  _ stayed _ like his Dad asked him to. He could have stopped this. He should have stopped this. _

_ Bruce’s fingers slid through Tim’s hair, murmuring something to him, trying to calm him down. Tim couldn’t hear what he was saying, all he could hear was his father’s last words ringing in his ears. All he could see was his father, dead on the floor. _

_ He should have stopped this. _

“You  _ should _ have stopped it Tim. You failed your father when he needed you most. You need to face your inadequacies.”

Tim wanted to throw up, but he fought down the urge. His throat worked for a few minutes, resisting him, but finally he was able to gasp out, “Go fuck yourself.”

“You blame yourself for his death,” Dr. Haverford said, “You  _ should _ blame yourself.”

* * *

 

_ It was only some months ago, he and Conner were in Tim’s apartment in Gotham. They had been dating for a month now, but it felt like they’d been together for years. It came so easily to them, like two pieces finally fitting right after sliding against each other for years. _

_ They had stayed in for a date, though it almost didn't feel like a date. They’d watched a movie and ordered take out, chatting and joking like they always had, but with breaks in between for kissing and groping. A missing piece they didn't know they needed, that they hadn't known the other wanted just as much as they did. _

_ Now, Tim was bent over his kitchen counter, moaning as Conner thrusted into him from behind. He’d been trying to do the dishes before Conner side-tracked him. Panting, Tim pressed his hips back into Conner’s, trying to get a better angle. The edge of the counter dug into his hips a little until Conner’s hands came around to lift him better, pushing in deeper. Tim had never known he could feel this good, physically and emotionally all at once. _

Dr. Haverford scribbled something in his notebook, “He didn’t want to look at your face, he couldn’t even look you in the eyes. He was only using you for sex.”

“No,” Tim groaned, “Conner loves me. You better hope he doesn’t get a hold of you. He’d crush your skull just for saying that.”

Dr. Haverford’s eyebrow twitched, “That sounds very possessive of him. That’s a sign of an abusive relationship.” He tapped his pen against the top of his notebook, “Have there been any instances where he's hurt you?”

Tim’s vision began to blur, but he fought it off, “No, you’re not going to convince me Conner’s abusive. He loves me. I love him.”

“You’re in denial Tim,” Dr. Haverford said, “He kept your relationship a secret from your friends and family. He’s ashamed of you.”

“Keeping it a secret was  _ my _ idea,” Tim said, tilting his head back, trying to catch his breath and think clearly, “We’re still figuring stuff out.”

“So you’re ashamed of him?” Dr. Haverford asked, “Are you certain  _ you _ aren’t the abusive partner?”

“No, I—” Tim’s breath caught in his chest and he started coughing. Dr. Haverford took the opening.

“You have to admit that you have a problem Tim. You’re blocking your own ability to get better.” Dr. Haverford smiled, “I’m trying to help you, Tim.”

* * *

 

_ Tim was eleven years old. He’d gone out following Batman and Robin again, snapping photo’s and avoiding detection. He’d gotten a few good ones before it had started to rain suddenly, the temperature dropping rapidly. Normally Tim wouldn’t have stayed out in the rain, but Nightwing was also in town and it was so rare that all three of them were together, so by the time he got home, he was thoroughly drenched. _

_ Tim shed his clothes and crawled into the shower, turning it up as hot as he could without burning himself. He scrubbed himself and stayed under the hot spray for a while longer, trying to warm up. By the time he got out of the shower, however, he was still shivering, and a headache was starting to form, making him dizzy. Tim took an ibuprofen and got into his warmest pyjamas, though it was summer. He crawled into bed and tossed around fitfully for a while, trying to sleep despite how uncomfortable he was. _

_ When Tim finally fell asleep, it was restlessly, never quite fully asleep, but unable to wake up again. There was something wrong, something really wrong, but he couldn't make himself get up and do anything about it. _

_ Tim lost track of time, feeling it slip away from him as he fell deeper and deeper into a swirling dark pit. He kept trying to pull himself out of it, but he couldn’t quite manage. _

_ There was a sudden commotion, someone calling Tim’s name, hands touching his face. Why were they so cold? Was Tim warm? He was shivering, he felt cold, but he could feel the sweat rolling off of him. More voices, and he was lifted from his bed onto something hard. He was moving, these people were taking him somewhere, but Tim couldn’t fight them. If he were Robin, would he be able to fight them? Was he being kidnapped? If he was being kidnapped, he hoped Batman came to rescue him. _

_ Tim finally woke up sometime later. He’d been in the hospital with a severe fever, and slipped into a coma for ten days. The last thing he remembered was crawling into bed Friday night with some chills from the rain. The housekeeper had taken the weekend off, and no one had found him until Monday morning when it was nearly too late. _

_ “You gave us quite a fright there, son,” the doctor told him, “We nearly lost you a few times.” _

_ Mother and Father called two days after he got out of the hospital. Tim secretly hoped that they would cut their trip short and come home to be with him. _

_ “We called the doctor, he said you’re doing just fine. You’re a big boy Timmy, you don’t need us to come home and take care of you,” Mother said over the phone, “Just listen to the housekeeper and take the week off school. You’ll be fine sweetie.” _

_ Tim clenched his teeth, but he forced himself to smile as he said, “Alright, thank you Mother. You’ll still be home in three weeks, right?” _

_ There was shuffle as the phone switched hands, “Actually,” Father said, “We’ve heard of a great archeological find a few miles away, and we were thinking of extending our stay for a bit. It would only be a week or two.” _

_ They had originally planned to come home in three weeks so they would be able to spend Tim’s birthday with him. They must have forgotten again, “That’s fine, it sounds like it’s important.” _

_ “That’s the spirit champ,” Father said, “Listen, we gotta go, but we’ll see you in a few weeks, okay? Love you, bye!” _

_ “Bye.” Tim hung up. _

Dr. Haverford looked at him with sympathy. Tim wanted to claw his eyes out, “Facing the fact that your parents didn’t love you is tough, but it’ll get better with time, Tim.”

* * *

 

_ Tim glared at the TV as though it might transport him through it if he glared hard enough. On it, the news was playing, showing a fight between the Titans and some giant robot thing. Tim flinched minutely every time it looked like one of them took a hit, wishing desperately that he could be there, that he could help. _

_ “Tim, turn that off,” his dad ordered, standing in the entranceway to the living room. He was frowning, upset that Tim was still participating, even in this small way, in vigilante life. _

_ “Just a bit,” Tim said absently, wincing as he watched Cassie zig instead of zag and take a hit she might not have if Tim had been there, calling the shots and giving orders. It was so obvious that the robot was weak on its left side. _

_ “Tim,” Dad said, “Turn it off and come have dinner.” His tone meant no arguing. _

_ Reluctantly, Tim switched off the TV, “I’m not hungry,” he said, walking past his dad and heading for the stairs. _

_ “Are you sure?” Dana came up behind Dad, smiling brightly and slipping an arm around his waist, “We ordered Chinese tonight.” _

_ “No, thank you.” Normally Tim would at least try and politely sit with his dad and his new, much younger wife, but he didn't think he could stomach it tonight. _

_ Tim shut the door to his room and stood there for a moment, remembering how Conner had found him a few weeks ago. He’d only been there for a brief moment, but Tim couldn’t help but go over it in his mind over and over again. He felt cut off, restricted, gagged and chained and unable to do anything about it. He missed Robin, sure, but what he missed more were his friends. He missed Dick, his brother in all but legal status. He missed his friends who he’d known for years, who knew him better than anyone in his ‘regular’ life. He missed Bruce, who’d been there for him when he needed him and taught him so much, acting more like a father sometimes than his real dad. He missed Conner, his best friend, the person who Tim . . . _

_ Some days, Tim could fake it well enough that even he believed he was happy now. He could go to school, spend time with his Dad, make friends, get a job one day, have a normal life. Most days, Tim had to physically drag himself out of bed, knowing that he would never be Robin again. He had to spend the rest of his life never seeing his best friends again. He could hardly go out anymore, not after spending so long learning to really listen to the city, to know that someone needed help and he could do nothing. _

_ No, that wasn't right. He  _ could _ do something, but he was forcing himself not to. To please a man who had repeatedly left him alone for month on end. Why did he care all of a sudden? Tim sucked in an uneven breath and laid down on his bed, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to cry. _

“It’s alright to hate your parents, Tim. Your emotions are completely valid,” Dr. Haverford said, “You’re allowed to be angry.”

“I’m not,” Tim protested, “I’m not angry. Not any more. He was trying to protect me.”

“You  _ are _ angry Tim, you’re just in denial,” Dr. Haverford said, “You have to let go of that denial if you want to get better.”

* * *

 

_ Tim lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to move. Conner was dead. Bruce was dead. His father was dead. His mother was dead. The people he loved kept turning up dead, and he couldn’t stop it. He felt like the world was sitting on his chest, pressing him down, keeping him from moving. He was paralyzed, crushed into his mattress and destined to live his life there until he died. _

_ He didn't even have Robin anymore. Dick had taken it and given it to Damian, the little brat that had nearly killed him. Tim had worked so hard to be Robin, to do good in the world, and now it was in the hands of a little psychopath with delusions of his own importance. Dick had said it was because he saw Tim as his equal, not his sidekick, but he hadn’t even asked Tim if it was alright to take Robin. He’d just taken it. It was true that Dick was the original, the creator of Robin, and was now Batman and could decide who should be Robin, but he should have asked Tim. Or at the very least offered Tim Nightwing. _

_ But he hadn’t. _

_ He’d ripped the one anchor Tim had left away and given it to a spoiled brat who would love nothing more than to see Tim fail. _

_ And now Tim was alone. _

_ He always ended up alone. _

“You are alone Tim, you always have been,” Dr. Haverford said, “But you don't have to be. We’re here to help you Tim, you just have to let us.”

Tim stared up into nothing, to mentally and physically exhausted to answer. He sat limp as his restraints were loosened.

“That’s enough for today I think,” Dr. Haverford said, “I’ll see you next session Tim. Get some rest.”

* * *

 

Tim wasn’t sure what day it was anymore. His internal clock was all out of whack, messed up by the drugs and Dr. Haverford’s constant barrage of mental grenades. It had maybe been days or weeks since he’d first been taken, and it was getting harder and hard to tell the days apart. Time was stretching and condensing, and Tim couldn’t get his head right. Sometimes it felt like he was being taken to the lab every day, twice sometimes. Other times it felt like days went by where he was left alone in his cell.

Of course, it probably  _ was _ that they were intentionally inconsistent with how often they tortured him in an effort to disorient him and put further doubt in his mental stability. Tim could list all of the techniques they were using to try and break him in alphabetical order, but that didn’t mean he was immune to their effects. He hoped Batman and the others were coming soon, he didn’t know how long he’d be able to hold out.

“Heya kiddo.”

Tim hissed through his teeth, sitting up after a moment’s struggle. Business Suit was standing on the other side of the glass, smiling kindly at Tim. He was holding two plates with food on them. Dinner, it looked like.

“How ya been?” he asked, looking concerned even with the smile, “I hear Dr. Haverford and Dr. Colin have been a bit rough on you.”

“On your order,” Tim snarled, sitting up. His legs felt like jello and his head spun with headrush. How long had he been lying down on his cot?

“Yes well,” Business Suit shuffled his feet like he was ashamed, “We’re trying to help you Tim, but you’re pretty resistant. Not that we didn't think you would be, I was fully aware of how stubborn you are when I chose you.”

Tim glared, “You know you’re going to be in deep shit when Batman comes for me, right? He’s going to utterly demolish everything you’ve built. By the time he’s finished with you, your life will be in ruins.”

Business Suit smiled, “You have such faith in him, it’s really touching Tim,” he said, “But your faith is misplaced. You know you’re not his real son. He  _ has _ a real son, he doesn’t need you. Not like I need you Tim.” He crossed to the slot and slid a plate through. A perfectly cooked steak, a caesar salad side, and a plastic wineglass of high end red wine.

Tim made no move towards the food. Business Suit pulled a folding table and chair out from the side of Tim’s cell, where he couldn’t see. He set it up and set his own plate of the same meal down on the table, “There’s some cake later, if you like,” Business Suit said, sitting down, “I thought we could sit and have a nice meal together. Bond a little.”

This was  _ textbook _ , trying to present himself as the nice, helpful, caring person when the only other people Tim encountered were directly hurtful. He wanted to scream, but his throat felt so raw, “I’m not old enough to drink,” Tim said.

Business Suit smiled, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the cops,” he said, cutting into his steak, “Besides, where we are, the legal age is eighteen. You’re not breaking any laws.”

That narrowed down Tim’s possible location from ‘anywhere’ to ‘about 115 different countries in the world’. Better than before, but not great, “I’m seventeen,” Tim said.

“Are you?” Business Suit asked, and Tim blinked. How long had he been in here? Was it July already?

Tim put his head in his hands, “Stop, just stop,” he sounded way too close to begging for his own taste.

“I’ve upset you, I’m sorry,” Business Suit said, “Don’t worry, we’ll throw you a nice party once you’re feeling better. Something small, family and friends, like you prefer.”

Business Suit stayed for a long time, trying to chat with Tim, even when Tim stayed silent, “You haven’t touched your food,” he said, glancing towards the untouched plate, “Do you want something different? If you want something else, I can get it for you.”

“I’m not hungry,” Tim said, not looking at him as he paced around the room. He needed to move around, he was going crazy in such a confined space.

Business Suit wiped his mouth with his napkin, perfectly polite, “Tim, if you don’t eat your dinner, you won’t get dessert,” he said, “I’m sorry, but those are the rules.”

“Go to hell,” Tim snarled.

Business Suit sighed, “I know you’re upset right now, but once you’re better, this will all be a bad dream.” He stood up and collected his plate, “I have to go now, but I’ll check in on you again soon. Eat your dinner and the cooks will send you that cake when you’re done.”

Business Suit approached the glass, “I’ll see you soon, son. I love you.”

Tim slammed himself against the glass in a fit of anger. It didn’t even shudder, and Tim’s shoulder was definitely going to bruise, but Tim almost enjoyed the pain, something physical to latch onto. Business Suit sighed and walked towards the door, “Teenagers,” he muttered to himself, “Always throwing tantrums.”

Two kitchen workers came in less than five minutes later, three thugs following along. They cleared away the folding chair and table, but left Tim’s plate where it was. When they were gone, Tim went over and picked up the plate. The steak had long gone cold and the salad was limp and soggy. Tim’s stomach growled at him. When had he last eaten? He picked up the plastic fork and stabbed some salad onto it.

Tim paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he put the fork down, head pounding. He was sitting in a cell, who knew where in the world, eating the food given to him by a deranged business man who wanted to turn him into a living weapon to change the world in his favour. Tim’s appetite suddenly evaporated. He threw the plate against the glass, splattering food against it, leaving a greasy stain on the glass and spilling red wine on the beige carpet.

“I’m in control,” Tim said through gritted teeth, “I’m in control. Batman will come for me. I’m in control.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually really fun to write, especially the last little bit. I'm a sucker for really nasty psychological torture.


	8. Boysenberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has a bit of a rough scene at the end of force feeding. If you'd rather not read that, you might want to stop reading when the six guards come into his cell. Figured I should warn people, just in case.

Though Bruce might have preferred to keep with the investigation 24/7, there were other things that needed his attention as well, like Wayne Enterprises.

“How goes the search?” Lucius asked him when they were alone in his office.

Bruce grunted, letting that be his answer. He hadn’t slept well since Tim had been taken, and he really didn’t want to deal with snotty business people today. He had to, however, to keep his cover and fund his nightly activities. Plus, without Tim to help run things, a couple sectors were stalling.

Lucius sighed, “A couple people asked when Tim will be back from his ‘vacation’. They know better than to believe he’d take such a long vacation, the kid’s a workaholic.”

“Tell them he’s taken a mandatory sabbatical,” Bruce said, “I was worried he was spending too much time at a desk and sent him to do some travelling, to broaden his horizons.”

“I’ll plug it into the rumor mill,” Lucius said, “The best one so far is that he’s off getting a sex change.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, “That’s very transphobic,” he said.

“Yeah well, didn't say it was the most polite one. That would be that he got a girl pregnant and is trying to settle it out of the public eye,” Lucius said, “Anyway, you’ve got a meeting.”

“With?” Bruce picked through the piled up files on his desk.

“An investment advisor by the name of Jeremiah Atwater IV.” At Bruce raised eyebrow, Lucius shrugged, “Apparently he goes by ‘Jerry’. Anyway, the guy has a knack for making smart investments and making buckets of money for his clients. He’s expensive, and more of a freelancer than a team player, but he’s worth it. He’s turned a dozen companies around in the last five years alone.”

Bruce hummed, “We’ll see,” he said. He was always wary of people in the business world. Too many of them were cut throat, ‘do anything to succeed’ types that he detested. He’d had more than one ‘advisor’ suggest that he do something morally questionable, all in the name of the bottom dollar.

Lucius chuckled, “Anyway, we’re meeting him in conference room three in ten minutes. Get your ‘polite business’ face on.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and got up from his chair. As they walked to the conference room, they passed Tim’s office. He hardly used it, preferring to talk to the people he was working with and move around than sit behind a desk the whole day, but somehow it looked even more empty than it usually did. Bruce steeled himself and tried to focus on his business.

Jeremiah Atwater IV was already waiting for them in the conference room, along with his team of five other suits and one little secretary whose attire only just fit the ‘business appropriate’ label. Bruce felt a moment of pity for the straining buttons of her blouse and her ankles, which were jammed into three inch heels. Atwater was already seated, schmoozing with the board members that were already there, while the rest of his cronies stood around him, agreeing with everything he said and laughing at his every joke. Bruce stifled a sigh and braced himself for a very dull meeting.

“Mr. Wayne!” Atwater said, smiling brightly and standing, putting out a hand to shake, “A pleasure to meet you.”

Bruce took his hand, “Thank you, you as well,” he said, letting the other man overpower the handshake.

Atwater was his age, with very straight, very white teeth. He had a haircut that might have suited a younger man better, but a very smart business suit. Not too expensive, but clearly well tailored. There was something unsettling in his smile though, something that put Bruce on guard.

“Why don't we get started, Mr. Atwater?” Bruce suggested, removing his hand from the other man’s grip, “I’m sure you have a lot to say.”

“Of course, of course,” Atwater said. He turned to the secretary, “Tammy, why don't you run off and find us all some coffee?” He watched he teeter off for a moment too long, before turning back to the room at large, “So, why don't we get started?”

Bruce didn't roll his eyes, but it was a near thing.

Despite his expectations, however, Atwater actually had solid investment ideas. For once, the hyper macho showboating was a bluff for an actually intelligent business man. Bruce could see how it would disarm a wiser business man and completely baffle a simpler one. There was something about Atwater that Bruce didn't like, however, a niggling thing at the back of his mind, telling him to be on guard.

“Let’s take a break,” Bruce suggested, “Let everyone stretch a bit and come back in ten minutes.”

Atwater looked like he wanted to continue talking, but he was smart enough to know better than to disagree with the man whose ultimate approval he needed. They all stood and milled about, chatting with one another, making connections. Bruce made his way over to the secretary that had been standing in the corner of the room for a last hour.

“You’re feet must be killing you,” he said, smiling kindly at her, “Why don’t you sit for a second?”

The girl, Tammy, smiled back, “Thank you,” she said gratefully. She wobbled over to one of the cushy chairs and practically sank into it with a sigh. Bruce sat next to her as she started rolling her ankles around—he winced when he could hear them cracking from where he was sitting.

“Does Mr. Atwater require you to wear such high heels?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tammy shrugged, “He doesn’t  _ require _ it, per say, but he  _ suggests _ it.”

Bruce frowned, “How is he to work for?” he asked. At Tammy’s odd look, he smiled at her, “I find that it’s easier to get a real judgement of someone’s character from the people who work for them rather than from the person themselves.”

Tammy smiled back, though it faded a little when she glanced at her boss, “He pays well,” she said, but didn't offer anything else.

Bruce felt a wave of sympathy for her. She was maybe a little older than Dick, and from what he could observe, very overqualified to be hustling around getting coffee for men who ‘suggested’ that she wear three inch heels to work. He fished around in his pocket.

“If you ever feel like you need a change of scenery, stop by Human Resources and ask for Patty,” he said, handing her a card, “Tell her I sent you personally.”

Tammy looked a little star struck, “Thank you, Mr. Wayne,” she said. She turned it over in her hands before tucking it away securely in her pocket.

Bruce was about to say something else, but Atwater called the meeting back to order, “Don’t mind anyone else. You sit there as long as you like,” Bruce told her before making his way back to the other side of the room.

The meeting concluded without Bruce paying much attention, more or less decided on what he was going to say to Atwater. The other board members could see this and pulled back their interest as well, knowing Bruce wouldn’t be moved. The meeting ended five minutes ahead of schedule; everyone loitered about, chatting amicably and trading business cards.

“Mr. Wayne!” Atwater was making his way across the room, “I hope you’ll give my proposal some thought, I’d very much like to work with you.”

_ Not friggin likely _ , Bruce thought, “We’ll go over it with our other members and let you know what we decide,” he said plainly.

Atwater didn't seem phased, “I saw you talking to Tammy earlier. She’s a little piece of work, isn’t she?” he grinned.

“She seems like a bright young girl,” Bruce said, hoping he was telegraphing how uncomfortable he was. If he had a dollar for every man who felt like they needed to engage in ‘locker room talk’ with him, he wouldn't need WE to fund Batman.

“She’s quite the number, I’ll give her that,” Atwater said, “Anyway, I hope to hear from you soon.”

“I’m sure you will,” Bruce said, having been finished with this conversation since it started.

“Oh! Before I forget,” Atwater said, “Where’s that kid of yours?”

Bruce blinked, “Kid?” he questioned.

“That Tim Drake kid you’ve got working for you,” Atwater said, grinning, “I heard he was quite the clever little cookie.”

Bruce set his jaw and tried to keep his emotions in check, “He’s taking a sabbatical. Traveling.”

“Oh yeah?” Atwater’s grin was too white and too straight to look right. It almost didn't look real, like someone had stuck mannequin teeth in a human face, “Whereabouts did you send him to?”

“I left that up for him to decide,” Bruce said, “I wanted to let him exercise a bit of independence.”

Atwater nodded, “Very clever,” he said, “You know, I’m in the process of adopting a teenager myself.”

“Congratulations,” Bruce said.  _ That poor kid _ , he thought.

“Thank you,” Atwater said brightly, “It’s a lot more complicated than I thought it was going to be. I don't know how you did it so many times.”

“It’s not about the paperwork,” Bruce said, “I really need to get going, I’m pretty busy,” he lied.

“Of course, of course,” Atwater said, sticking out a hand to shake one last time, “It was wonderful to meet you. Give little Tim my regards.”

Bruce took his hand, this time squeezing it hard, “I will,” he said, then quickly left the room, Lucius following him.

“I don’t like him,” Bruce growled, stalking back to his office.

Lucius snorted, “I don’t think anyone likes him. They like his money.”

Bruce hummed, already putting it out of his mind. He had other things to worry about.

* * *

 

The perks of a hunger strike, Tim was discovering, was that he was now in a kind of arms race with Dr. Haverford and Dr. Colin. The drugs that they were continuously putting into his body had to calibrated to his weight, and on a hunger strike, his weight fluctuated greatly. There was the added benefit of having them scramble to keep him healthy; they wanted him mentally broken, but still in physically good condition.

“Tim, I want to be patient with you,” Business Suit said, “But you’re forcing my hand. I’m going to have to start punishing you if this keeps up.”

Tim responded punching the glass until his knuckles bled.

He started doing that every time Business Suit tried to visit him. He also started cutting his wrists and arms, breaking the plastic cutlery and using the broken edges to cut into his skin. The cuts were shallow and ultimately wouldn’t kill him, but it put his captors on edge.

“I’m in control,” Tim hissed as he pressed a broken plastic fork into his skin and watched the blood well up, “I’m in control.”

Self-mutilation and an eating disorder; not the healthiest coping mechanisms, but Tim was working with what he had.

They stopped giving him cutlery, switching to meals that mostly consisted of finger foods or soups that he could sip. Most lay untouched by Tim, or otherwise thrown against the glass to make a mess. The mess was always cleaned up after he came back from a torture session, but Tim could still see the stain on the carpet from the red wine he’d spilled the first time. He also figured out other ways to hurt himself, punching the glass until he bled, biting his arms, scratching his nails across his torso, punching the walls and glass until he bled. There was a sharp metal corner on his cot, a manufacturing flaw, and Tim dragged his leg across it until he’d created a sizable gash.

All the while, he refused to eat. He drank water to keep hydrated, but refused to eat.

His wounds were treated while he was in the lab, and his cell was cleaned and rearranged while he was out of it, removing the cot and instead placing a foam mattress on the floor (which was removed when Tim started ripping pieces off of it and swallowed some, so now he slept on the floor). He was in a constant battle with Dr. Colin and Dr. Haverford.

“I  _ can’t _ drug him,” Dr. Colin hissed, “If I try to put anything into him with his system out of whack like this, there’s no telling what will happen. He could go into shock. He could have a seizure. Fuck, I could mess up the dose and kill him with an overdose.”

“Language, doctor,” Dr. Haverford said, voice tight, “There must be something you can do.”

Dr. Colin looked Tim over again, checking his eyes and pinching his skin, “I’d have to do a whole other set of tests to get the compounds just right, but by the time I finish with them, he might have dropped more weight and I’d have to start over.”

Dr. Haverford frowned and Tim giggled hysterically, “Guess that means we’re done for the day,” he said, grinning widely. Dr. Haverford glared at him. Tim felt absolutely  _ giddy _ .

Tim was still waiting on the ‘punishment’ that was supposed to be coming, but Business Suit was trying to be Tim’s ‘good cop’, the one he could trust and was nice to him, so it hadn’t come yet. Tim knew they’d figure it out, but in the meantime, he was enjoying the respite from the torture sessions and having the upper hand for the first time since being brought to this place.

Ten or so days into his combined hunger strike and self-mutilation campaign, six guards trotted into the hallway, followed by two lab coats and a kitchen worker. The kitchen worker was holding a tall jar of some kind of greenish sludge, and the lab workers were holding a plastic hose and a funnel.

This was not going to go well.

Of course, the downsides of a hunger strike was that Tim wasn’t at his best, and therefore fighting off six armed thugs wasn't in the realm of realism. Still, Tim gave it his best effort as they opened his cell and stormed in. He managed to get a few good hits in, feeling a nose crack under the heel of his hand before he was grabbed and pinned. His arms were wrenched painfully behind his back and a hand in his hair dragged him up, onto his knees.

Tim clenched his jaw as tight as he could, knowing what they were going to try next. Something was forced between his lips, a wooden stick, about the same size as a school ruler, prying his teeth apart. Someone squeezed his cheeks, forcing his mouth open wider. Tim struggled, but between six of them, they had plenty of muscle and hands to hold him in place and force his mouth open.

“Tilt his head back more,” one of the lab coats said, rubbing a gel on the outside of the hose. The ends were rounded off so they wouldn’t scrape his esophagus.

The hand in his hair gripped tighter and forced his head back, straightening his throat out. Tim tried to wiggle away as the hose was put into his mouth. The other lab coat shone a light into his mouth as the first began to slide it down his throat. Tim gagged, but it hardly mattered as the tube moved further down, cutting off his airway a little, choking him. The lab coat adjusted the tube and Tim could breath a little easier, but not by much. Tim felt the tube travel down into his empty stomach and stop.

A cold stethoscope was pressed to his chest and around his stomach, “It’s in place,” the lab coat said. He took the funnel and attached it to the other end of the hose. They motioned the kitchen worker forward.

Tim tried to struggle again, but it was no use. The kitchen worker poured the green sludge into the funnel. It was runny, and slid down through the tube easily. It was cold, making Tim shiver as it settled in his stomach. He tried to bite down on the tube, tried to stop the flow, but the thugs held him too well.

It was over in about two minutes. The kitchen worker poured in intervals, letting each dose settle in his stomach until the whole jar was down. It wasn't really a lot, but Tim could guess that it wasn't so much ‘food’ as ‘raw nutrients and vitamins and things the body needed to survive’. The stethoscope was pressed around again, and with a nod to the other, the lab coat began to retract the hose.

Tim gagged again, but his body refused to vomit. Biology had a job to do and that job was to keep him alive. Tim’s body was hungry and it was going to keep whatever was in it on lockdown until it could absorb everything. The hand in his hair dropped, but the stethoscope remained, probably trying to make sure he hadn’t aspirated any of the sludge. Tim took his change and bit down on the arm holding the stethoscope. There was a yelp and he tasted blood; Tim grinned triumphantly until he was struck across the face. He dropped the arm and blacked out for a second. He must really be in a bad way if a blow from a scrawny lac tech could knock him out, however briefly.

When Tim came to, he was on the floor and the guards were leaving. The lab coat he’d bit was cursing a blue streak and cradling his arm. In a minute, Tim was left alone again, sprawled on the floor with a cold lump in his stomach. Gasping and swallowing around the phantom feeling of the tube in his throat, Tim reached out at gripped the carpet where they hadn’t been able to get the stain out. The red wine stain looked a little like old blood.

“I’m in control,” Tim gasped, “I’m in control.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a 'break' chapter, I guess. Not really filler, but it slowed down from the other chapters.


	9. Blackberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me a lot of trouble. I couldn't sit down to write it at all. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but it needs to get out there into the world. Ah well, hopefully the next chapter doesn't fuss as much.

Tim had been taken in late March, when it was only just starting to get warmer in Gotham, but the months had ticked by with no leads surfacing. Spring had passed them along, April and May trudging by in a crawl, every day reminding the whole family that Tim was still gone. It was now June, and there was still no sign of Timothy Drake anywhere in the world.

“There has to be  _ something _ ,” Barbara snarled, running a hand through her messy red hair. She’d been going over the security videos that were available of the night Tim was taken and the day the warehouse was blown up. There wasn’t a lot, and what was available (that she had discovered wasn't doctored or played on a loop), showed nothing useful at all, “Who the fuck is it that can get past  _ me _ ?”

“Babe,” Dick said tentatively, coming up behind her, “I know you’re dedicated to finding Tim, we all are, but maybe you should take a break.”

“I don’t  _ want _ to take a break,” Barbara didn’t shout or slam her fist on the dash, but Dick flinched at her tone nonetheless, “I want to find out who the fuck took Tim and shove every security camera in the city up their ass.”

“That seems excessive,” Dick said, still cautiously approaching. Last time he’d gotten too close when Barbara was in a mood like this, he’d been put in a headlock.

Barbara growled, “I just want to find Tim and bring him home,” she said, and she sounded so frustrated that she might be near tears.

Dick sighed and came up beside her, letting his hand rest on her shoulder, “I know. I do too,” he said sadly, “But I don't think there’s anything on the tapes.”

Barbara sighed, flicking through the different angles once more, “There’s nothing. How can there be nothing? The kind of money and connections you would need to do something like this, even for a short time, is in that stupidly shitty range where it rules out a lot of people, but the pool of people left is still too big to do much with it,” she said, “I wish I had something else to go on.  _ Anything _ at this point.”

Dick leaned down and wrapped his arms around Barbara, “We’ll find something. We’re not giving up on him.”

Barbara leaned back into Dick, letting his warm body comfort her, “I know we aren’t, but it’s been  _ months _ . I’m not the only one losing hope.”

Dick squeezed his eyes shut, “I know,” he said. Two, nearly three months was a long time for someone to be missing, captured by some nefarious person who was being damn smart about keeping a low profile.

Barbara took off her glasses and rubbed her stinging eyes, “If I had just one little thing, a hair, an initial, a rumor, I could maybe do something with that, but whoever did this too good at being invisible.”

Dick understood; he and the rest of the family had nearly torn the city streets apart looking for clues to what happened to Red Robin, but no one could offer anything. It was as though Tim had simply disappeared off the face of the earth. Bruce had even gotten the Justice League involved, asking them to kick around their own respective cities and see if anything turned up. No one had found a thing. Even the magic users hadn’t been able to find anything; tracking spells were blocked somehow and any kind of workaround wasn’t working around it. It was wearing on them all pretty hard.

Dick glanced over at the training mats where Damian was doing his stretches. He’d always known that Damian and Tim had never hated each other like they claimed to (at least after a while), but he hadn’t expected Tim’s disappearance to hit Damian so hard. He’d thought perhaps that it was because they were together when Tim was taken and Damian felt responsible, but it seemed to go deeper than that.

_ One problem at a time _ , Dick thought, laying a kiss to Barbara’s temple, “Take a break,” he said, “Get something to eat and some sleep. You deserve a break.”

Barbara smiled at him, “You’re sweet,” she said, turning for a proper kiss. She let out a long sigh, taking one last look through the footage, “Yeah, I’ll turn it in for now. There’s nothing here that I can see.”

“Let me take a look at it, I might be able to find something.” Dick doubted it, but if it would help convince Barbara to get some sleep . . .

“Oh no you don’t,” Barbara grinned, “You’re coming up to bed with me. You’ve been running ragged as much as I have, going through the city each night.” She started wheeling towards the elevator, “Come on, we’re both overdue for a snuggle too.”

“If you insist,” Dick said. He shut down the footage for now, thinking,  _ We’ll find you Tim. Just be patient, we’re coming. _

* * *

 

For most of his life, Damian had been treated like a prince. He got what he wanted, when he wanted. He was trained and taught by the best, raised to believe that he would be the next ruler of the world, the next Batman, the greatest Robin. He was told he was the best, the most worthy to carry on his Grandfather’s legacy and take up the mantle of Batman one day.

Since coming to live with his father, Damian had learned that, while he  _ was _ exceptional in a lot of ways, he was not deserving of things simply because he wished for them. He had learned that things like kindness and empathy were things worthy of admiration, not condemnation. He had learned that he was allowed to enjoy things outside what he had been told he was destined for. He had learned that friends and family were not weak points, but added to his strengths. Damian had learned to be vulnerable, that he was  _ allowed _ to be vulnerable. As much as Damian hated to admit it sometimes, he had grown as a person since coming to live with his father and siblings.

And a lot of that had to do with Tim.

Damian would never admit it, but he’d been so threatened by Tim at first, his rival for Robin, for his birthright at Father’s side. He’d tried so hard to prove that he was superior in every way, lording it over Tim when he was chosen to be Robin. But Tim hadn’t cooperated, hadn’t stuck around to watch Damian be the better Robin, and instead struck out on his own, becoming Red Robin, a hero in his own right. He’d done amazing things, proving Bruce was alive when the whole world was against him, and managing to pull a fast one over Ra’s Al Ghul, causing Damian’s own grandfather to consider him a worthy heir.

No matter what Damian did, he was measured at every step by Tim, and the thought had terrified him at first.

As time wore on, as Damian had taken steps away from the person he used to be, he’d come to know Tim a little better (completely against his will). They were still careful around one another, Tim being wary of Damian for another attack, and Damian still harboring lingering doubts about his role as Robin (and seeing Tim as a manifestation of that doubt), but over time they’d developed a kind of balance. They had traded snark and tried to undercut each other in more subtle, almost playful ways.

Damian had even started to  _ like _ Tim.

But Damian had thrown it away again, spooked what might become of him if Tim really did surpass him. He’d started throwing real insults again, not even sure of an end goal, but lashing out at Tim for being the Robin that Damian wasn’t. He wasn’t calm, he wasn’t collected, he wasn’t the leader Tim had proven he could be. So he’d struck out at Tim, angered by what he’d perceived as his own shortcomings and taking it out on Tim.

If they never found Tim, Damian would never get the chance to say sorry.

That terrified him more than anything else.

Bruce came down to the training mats, “Damian, suit up, we’ve got a situation down by the docks.”

Damian nodded and went to the lockers. He found himself retreating into himself more and more these days, talking less and less outside of missions. He could feel his family’s worried gazes on his back, but he couldn’t seem to find it in him to say much.

Once he was suited up, Damian joined Batman in the Batmobile, “We got a tip about some human traffickers moving tonight,” he said as they were driving out towards the city, “I want you to keep on your guard, we’re not sure who’s behind it.”

“I will,” Damian promised staring out through the window at the city passing by. Bruce wondered for a moment if he should have left Damian at home, he was acting so upset.

They made it to the docks within a few minutes. From there it didn’t take long to find out where the commotion was. Batman signaled Robin to get close and stay low, try and find information. Robin nodded and made his approach, scoping out the scene. A group of six men, armed well, black fatigues, professional stances, loading a large shipping crate with women and children. Damian growled, but made no move to attack yet. He got close enough to hear what they were saying.

“—elling you, it’s really changed my life.” One of the thugs was saying. He had long dark blonde hair pulled back into a long braid, “Going Native is the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m so healthy and in touch with nature now.”

“Darryl, you’re so full of shit,” one of the other men said (brown hair in an honest to god mullet), “There’s no way in hell eating berries and hiking has made you ‘Native’. You sound like one of those guys who come back from India all ‘enlightened’ and shit when really you’re just talking out your ass.”

“Will you two shut up,” a man with closely cropped hair snapped, “Let’s just finish this and get back. Bossman wants this done quick so we can get out of this crap-hole city. So load up the cargo and get moving.”

Robin watched as they loaded the last of the scared people in at gunpoint, “They’ve got people loaded into a shipping container,” he whispered through the comm, “About ten female adults, and twenty children. Six gunmen. Should I move?”

“ _Wait for my signal_ ,” Batman’s voice came in his ear, “ _I’ll get around to the other side and draw their fire. You get the civilians out and to safety. Clear_?”

“Yes.” Robin moved forward and readied a Batarang, trying to get a better look at the lock on the container. A standard padlock with a chain— _ amatuer _ —and waited for Batman’s signal.

The smoke bomb went off and Damian heard the crunch of boots connecting with a face. Rabin waited a moment for the gunmen to scatter before throwing the Batarang. The padlock snapped with a clank and he rushed forward, yanking the chain away and throwing open the doors.

“Run!” Robin ordered the frightened civilians. He barely had enough time to get out of the way as they stampeded out, the smallest children being carried by the adults. Robin made sure they were all out of the way before leaping into the smoke, slamming into the backs of one thug’s knees. He fell with a yelp, but rolled with the momentum and sprang back up.

_ These guys are good _ , Damian thought. The thug aimed his weapon and Robin dove out of the way, nearly getting clipped. He recognised the gun, but he couldn’t put a name to it. Robin sprang at him, but the guy vaulted backwards.

“Retreat!” one of them called. One of them aimed at a tank that had been set aside and fired. The tank exploded in a giant fireball, threatening a power line above it. Robin had to scramble out of the way to avoid being burned, but he could still feel the heat on his back.

It took the two of them a minute to put out the fire with the fire retardant Batman had in his belt, but not enough that all hope was lost, “They’ll have a backup getaway close by,” Batman said, “Split up and find it.”

Robin nodded and tore off in the direction he thought he saw the thugs go. They were faster than the run of the mill thugs that seemed to infest Gotham—definitely trained and trained well. Damian hadn’t encountered men like this since Tim went missing.

As Damian pondered over the implications of that, he found what he was looking for. Three of the thugs, (braid, mullet, and crop-top) were walking hurriedly down an alley, keeping their steps light enough to make minimal noise with their heavy duty jackboots. Damian would be impressed if they hadn’t been trying to kidnap and sell a bunch of helpless people a few minutes ago.

Robin made his way upwards, onto a fire escape so he could drop down on them from above. While coming in from above sure made for a dramatic entrance, it was also the best way to get the upper hand in a fight. People rarely looked up when scanning for danger, they expected things to come at them from eye level, and these outsiders (Damian was certain they were from out of town), for all their training, hadn’t been conditioned to expect the Dark Knight to crash down on them from above.

“This was supposed to be an easy job,” braid hissed, “Go in, pick up the cargo, get out. No one said a damn thing about the Bat.”

“It is his city,” mullet said, “We shoulda figured he’d catch on to us. It’s not like the last time we were here birdnapping.”

_ Birdnapping? _ Damian thought, hesitating a moment. The pieces were starting to fit together.

“Quiet,” crop-top snarled, “Both of you be quiet and keep heading for the truck. Boss man is going to be pissed enough we lost him this deal, I don't want to piss him off further getting caught by the Bat and leading him right to Drake. So shut yer gobs and get moving.”

Damian felt the anger rise like bile in his throat. That’s why he recognised the guns, their movements, why there was something odd about them. These were the same men who’d taken Tim, and they were still working for the same person behind it all.

“Fathe—Batman,” Damian pressed his comm, “These men, they’re the same ones that took Red Robin.”

“ _ What _ ?” Batman snapped in his ear, “ _ Are you sure _ ?”

“Positive, they all but confessed,” Robin said, “I’m losing my advantage in a minute here, I’m going to take them out.”

“ _ Negative Robin, wait until I get there, _ ” Batman said, not out of breath at all, but definitely on the move.

The thugs were almost directly under Damian now. If he didn’t act, he might lose them, “Sorry Father, I can’t let them get away.” Robin shut down the comm and dropped down.

He landed heavily on mullet, throwing a Batarang at braid at the same time, lodging it deep in his knee. Braid screamed and Robin leapt at crop-top, trying to knock the gun out of his hands before he could fire it. Crop-top let the weapon slip from his hands and lashed out with a haymaker, colliding with Robin’s shoulder. It wasn’t enough to hurt him at all, but it was enough to throw Robin off balance and make his landing awkward. He skidded on the rough concrete flooring the alley and tried to right himself before any of them could make for their weapons. Damian had stopped carrying his katana a few weeks ago, worried what he might do to someone in the frustrated state he was in, but he was certainly regretting it now.

Robin got his bearings straightened out and charge back at crop-top, coming in low and slamming his elbow deep into his gut. Crop-top let out a wet grunt, balance thrown and his lunch threatening to make an appearance. Mullet had recovered and was fumbling with his weapon. Damian used the momentum he already had to throw crop-top backwards into him, sending them crashing down. Mullet’s head slammed into the concrete, stunning him again, while crop-top landed on top of him, crushing the air out of him. Robin landed on his chest, grabbing the collar of crop-top’s shirt and hauling his face close.

“Where is Red Robin!?” he shouted, flicking a Batarang out, letting the sharp edge rest against the thug’s throat, “Tell me or I’ll slice you a new breathing hole.”

A shot rang out and Damian pitched sideways, pain radiating across his back. Braid had taken up his weapon and fired. That was the problem with taking out limbs instead of going for more vital parts of the body, it left open the possibility that they could pick up their weapon and fire from the ground. It didn’t feel like Damian had been shot though, only a lucky graze against the width of his back. He could feel the bullet inside his body armor, burning the skin where it was trapped.

Crop-top moved quickly and rolled, pinning Damian under him, getting a knee on his chest and leaning his whole weight on him. The air left Damian’s lungs in a rush, and he was stunned enough by the pain in his back that he wasn't able to move his arms fast enough before mullet was pinning them down. Crop-top’s other knee came down on the tops of Damian’s thighs, and Robin could no longer move, and barely breathe.

“Damn fucking kid,” braid growled, “I’ll put him back in mother earth before his time. I’ll scalp the little shit.”

“Shut up and put that gun down,” crop-top barked, trying to get Robin to stop struggling, “We have to move, Batman won’t be far behind.”

“What do we do with him?” mullet asked, slurring slightly. He must have hit his head pretty hard.

Crop-top took a moment to think about it, “Jobs in the shitter, but maybe we can get on the boss’s good side if we bring him another bird.” He pulled something out of his pocket and uncapped it. A syringe, sedatives probably, most likely the same used on Tim to get him to go down so quickly.

Damian tried to struggle as crop-top brought the syringe towards his neck. He snapped his teeth, but he was starting to black out from lack of oxygen. The syringe plunged into his neck and ice slid through his veins. The knee on his chest eased off and he gasped for breath. Whatever they were using wasn’t as fast acting as he thought it would be, or Damian was slightly resistant to it. Still, it was making him sluggish enough that he couldn’t fight off crop-top as he picked Damian up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Alright, help me up,” braid was saying somewhere in Damian’s periphery. There was a touch at his ear, removing his comm and the tracker inside it.

“Sorry Darryl, we have to move fast and we’ve already got dead weight,” mullet said, “If you see my Nan, tell her hi for me.”

“Wait, stop!”

There was a click and a small ‘pop’, then a whoosh of fire, the heat close enough for Damian to feel heat on one side. Then the most horrendous screaming Damian had ever heard in his life.

“Couldn’t you have shot him before you lit him up?” crop-top growled. They were moving, Damian’s vision was slipping away to darkness.

“Yeah, coulda,” mullet said, “But he was such an asshole.”

That was the last thing Damian heard before he lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, that's two birds from the flock.
> 
> I've opened up fanfic commissions! Check out the info in the link!
> 
> https://mishaberrywrites.tumblr.com/post/160814367195/misha-berrys-fanfic-commissions


	10. Blueberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ran shorter, but a lot happened in it. It's also my first time writing from Steph's perspective, so I had a bit of trouble with that. Overall I'm glad how it turned out, even if there were some parts that I had to bump to a later chapter.

Damian came awake for the second time slowly, head spinning. He vaguely remembered waking the first time in a small whitewashed room and being asked to remove his uniform, but he’d tried to fight and gotten a blow to the head as  a reward.

He was in a different cell now, stretched out on a cot. So he gathered anyway, since it was pitch dark. Damian couldn’t see anything aside from some blinking lights off to one side of the room. Slowly, he got up from the cot and tried to walk toward them across a carpeted floor. Damian yelped more out of surprise than pain when he ran into a glass wall. Grumbling, Damian felt along the wall, trying to figure out if he could escape somehow.

Maybe an hour after Damian awoke, the lights flicked on with a fluorescent hum. Blinking in the sudden brightness, Damian got a good look at his surroundings. A whitewashed cement cell with a beige carpet. The glass he’d run into faced a hallway, and across from him another cell. There was a figure lying down on the floor in the cell, their back to Damian (who wondered why they didn’t have a cot). They looked small and very thin, even from this distance. Damian could see a mop of shaggy black hair and his heart stuttered.

“Tim!” he shouted, pounding on the glass, “Tim!”

The figure stirred, taking great effort to roll over and sit up. It was even worse than Damian had first estimated. Tim looked emaciated, face gaunt and sallow, and his collarbones jutting from his near-white skin. They must not have been letting him get any sun at all, because he was nearly as pale as the whitewash on the walls. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were dull and unhealthy, and Damian could see red marks on his arms and down his legs. Some of them looked like bite marks; what were they doing to him in here?

“Damian?” Tim’s voice was muffled through the two sheets of glass, but Damian could still hear him (besides that they both had been trained in lip reading), “Is that really you?”

Damian felt his eyes burn a little, but he refused to cry, “It’s me, it’s Damian,” he said, “We’ve been searching for you for months. We thought you might be dead.”

Tim blinked slowly, as though he was having trouble processing what Damian was saying. It almost seemed like he didn't even fully trust that Damian was there, like he might be a figment of Tim's imagination. Tim eventually managed to get fully up, sitting cross legged on the carpet. He stared at Damian, trying to make sense of things.

“Tim?” Damian asked, “Are you alright?”

Tim narrowed his eyes, “Since when does Damian call me ‘Tim’?” he asked aloud. He closed his eyes and shook his head, as though trying to clear it, “Whatever this is, it won't work.”

“Ti—Drake,” Damian called, feeling his heart clench. Tim turned away from him and shuffled off to the far corner of his cell, trying to squeeze behind the toilet, out of Damian’s sight, “What have they done to you?”

Tim didn't answer him aside to peer out and glare every minute or so, like he was checking if he was still there. He was muttering something Damian couldn't hear from the cell over, and it looked like he was scratching at something on his arm. A rash maybe? The skin looked pretty red.

Damian didn't have long to feel sorry for the situation, as several people entered the hallway, bringing them food. They slid their plates into their cells via the little slots in the glass, but Damian made no move to touch it. Tim looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks, he must have found something wrong with the food.

“What did you do to him!” Damian demanded, slamming his fists on the glass. The three guards that were with the kitchen workers fingered their weapons a little, but neither they or the kitchen workers reacted to Damian otherwise. They left the hallway, barely acknowledging either of them as people.

Damian tried to get a better look at Tim again, but he’d wedged himself further behind the toilet. Damian glanced at his own bathroom set up; there was very little room for anything between the wall and the toilet. Damian probably wouldn't be able to fit the way Tim seemed to be able to. How much weight had Tim lost?

Breakfast went cold and Damian tried a few more times to coax Tim out of his hiding spot. Tim just continued to scratch at his arm until Damian could see blood. Not a rash, a neurotic tick, possibly some sort of coping mechanism.

The hallway opened again and a man in a suit strode in with two men in lab coats and six guards. The man in the suit came up to Damian’s cell and peered in; Damian bared his teeth and resisted the urge to throw himself against the glass until it shattered.

“Is it a good idea to keep him so close to Tim?” the man in the suit asked, “It won’t set us back?”

“It won't be for very long,” one of the men in lab coats said, “Besides, we might be able to use his presence to our advantage. The subject will react probably have a strong reaction to him which we can bend to our needs.”

“Leave him alone!” Tim shouted suddenly. Damian could see that he was standing against the glass now, leaving bloody fingerprints from his scratching, “He’s just a kid, you fucking bastards, leave him alone!”

The man in the suit turned his full attention on Tim. It was like flicking a switch, suddenly his posture and voice sounded caring and kind, “We won't hurt him Tim, don't worry so much,” he said, “I’ll make sure he feels no pain at all.”

Damian didn't like the way that was worded, “What will you do to me?” he demanded.

The man in the suit glanced back at him, but returned his gaze to Tim, “He won’t be here for very long, I promise. I wasn't expecting to have to accommodate him at all, but don't worry Tim, you’re still my top priority.”

“What are you going to do to him?” Tim snarled. Damian had never heard Tim so viciously angry. He hated this man with everything in his body.

The man in the suit hummed and paced a little, as though trying to decide what to say, “I won't lie to you Tim, we’re going to study him,” he said, “He’s got quite a few enhancements that we think would be very beneficial to you, once you’re all fixed up. We won't hurt him.”

“Don't you dare,” Tim hissed, slapping a hand on the glass, “Don't lie to me. You said you wouldn't lie to me!”

The man in the suit out his hands up, “Now calm down, Tim, I'm not lying to you,” he said, “He won't feel any pain at all. We’ll run some tests on him for a while, see what he’s physically capable of, and when we dissect him, we’ll make sure he doesn't feel a thing.”

Tim began to punch the glass, hits surprisingly solid for how weak he seemed, “Leave him alone! Leave my brother alone!”

The man tutted, signalling the others to start leaving, “Tim, how many times do I have to tell you? They’re not your family anymore. I am.”

“I’ll fucking eviscerate you,” Damian growled, “I’ll kill you for what you’ve done!”

The man in the suit didn't react to Damian behind him, keeping his attention on Tim. He sighed and said, “I’ll come back when you're feeling a little better. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Your head on a plate!” Damian shouted at his back as he retreated down the hall. The man disappeared behind the door with a click, but Tim kept beating the glass until he knuckles were bloody.

Tim was breathing hard when he finally stopped. He slid to the floor and tried to catch his breath, “You’re really here, aren't you?” he asked, looking over at Damian, “I'm not hallucinating?”

“I'm really here Drake,” Damian said, feeling a glimmer of hope, “It’s really me.”

“Oh,” Tim closed his eyes and smiled, looking so relieved, “Good. I thought I'd started hallucinating all on my own. That would have been bad.”

Damian let out a rush of air, trying not to get choked up, “What did they do to you?”

Tim groaned and forced himself to sit up again, pressing his bloody knuckles to the fabric of his shift (that was huge on him), mopping up the blood, “They messed me up pretty bad, Dames,” he said, not looking up for a moment, “They keep trying to brainwash me, twisting everything in my head to make it so I need  _ him _ .” Tim spat out the word like a curse, “They’ve been drugging me and pulling up memories, making me see things that happened and making it awful. When I saw you, I thought I was hallucinating again, or they had me in the lab without me knowing.”

“Those bastards,” Damian snarled, “I'll rip their throats out.”

Tim hummed, sounding pleased by that mental image. He frowned suddenly and pulled his thin arms around his bony frame. Damian could see the red gouges in his arm where he’d been scratching, “I don't know how much longer I can last, Damian,” Tim said, “I can feel my brain coming apart at the seams.”

Damian gritted his teeth, “We’ll find a way out,” he promised, “I’ll get you out, I promise.”

* * *

 

When Steph had first struck out into vigilantism, it had more been a way to get back at her dad and escape her mom than out of any sense of heroism. She hadn't been that good at it either, stumbling around as Spoiler and getting lucky a lot. When she'd met Robin, Tim, she’d mostly been curious, and Steph with a curiosity was a dog with a big juicy bone.

Over time, however, Tim had become less of a curiosity and more of a goal, an inspiration. He had been the first person to actually give her credit for her work as Spoiler. She had immediately latched onto that with a tenacity that, looking back on it now, was a bit cringe worthy. She’d pursued Tim until he’d said yes to her, despite repeatedly turning her down. It was one of the things she was most embarrassed about from her early years.

But Tim had still been kind to her, even when she messed up. He’d supported her in her times of need, and was her rock when she’d gotten pregnant (she didn't regret giving the baby up for adoption, but sometimes she ran her fingers along her faded stretch marks and wondered). Steph wouldn't be the person she was without Tim, and even now that any romance between them was long over (she honestly should have seen him and Conner coming), they were still close.

So, when she said she was going to rip out the eyeballs of the person who’d taken Tim, she really meant it.

And now they had Damian too; she was going to have to start looking up the best ways to remove eyes.

Damian had been gone for about two days, and everyone aside from Bruce and Steph was out looking for him. Bruce was at the computer with Barbara while Steph was getting her shoulder stitched. She continued to have a bit of a reckless streak, even after all these years.

“Just a few more, Miss Stephanie,” Alfred said from behind her, working on another stitch, “You’ll be right as rain in just a minute.”

“Thanks Alfred,” Steph said distractedly, paying more attention to what was going on by the computer. Bruce and Barbara were talking with Leslie about the one lead they had.

“ _ The guy you brought me looks like he was flash-fried _ ,” Leslie said, “ _ He burned for a short time at an extremely high temperature _ .”

“Anything you can tell us will be helpful, Leslie.” Bruce sounded as gruff as ever, but Steph had come to be able to tell when he was anxious.

“ _ His outsides are a wash _ ,” Leslie said, “ _ His face and his fingerprints are completely burned off, so there’s nothing to go from there. I sent you his dental impression and a sample of his DNA, anything _ ?”

“Nothing yet,” Barbara said, still tapping away at the computer, “If it hasn't been wiped, i’ll find it.”

“ _ I’m sure _ ,” Leslie said, “ _ Anyway, it's his insides that are the interesting part _ .”

“Go on,” Bruce said.

“ _ There was ash and smoke in his lungs, so he was alive when he started cooking. He had a batarang in his knee, but what killed him was probably shock _ ,” Leslie said, “ _ His stomach contents are where it gets really interesting _ .”

Steph felt Alfred finish putting a bandage over her stitches and quickly put on a shirt. She wanted to hear what was interesting about a dead man’s last meal.

“ _ Your guy here was a bit of a nature man _ ,” Leslie said, “ _ Fresh fish, fresh berries, a lot of unusual meat, and dirty water. I've sent you samples of all the things I've managed to isolate, but there wasn't much else in there aside from a nasty looking ulcer _ .”

“I've analyzed what you sent,” Bruce said, pulling up a sheet of paper with a list on it, “The meats are a combination of rabbit, deer, moose, and gopher.”

“Moose and gopher?” Steph questioned incredulously, “Who the hell eat moose and gopher?”

“A lot of Native American tribes eat gopher,” Barbara said, “Was this guy Native?”

“Not that I could tell when I saw them. None of the men we encountered at the docks looked Native at all, but I never really got a good look.”

“ _ He could have been mixed or something _ ,” Leslie pointed out, “ _ Anyway, we can guess that he was probably  _ in _ North America at least. That’s something _ .”

Bruce glanced down at the paper, “The fish was a particular kind kind of trout called rainbow trout, which are artificially produced for fishing all over the world, but occur naturally in Pacific Asia and western North America. The berries are a mix of wild strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, and something called a saskatoon.”

“What’s that?” Steph asked, trying to sneak a look at the list. Bruce handed it to her so she could read it; it was a very comprehensive list, with annotations and everything, “‘Also called a ‘serviceberry’ or ‘juneberry’, saskatoons are a wild berry native to western Canada and the United States. Grows in most soil types, hardy through winter, fruit blooms in mid June through July.’ Never heard of them,” she said.

“It’s not commonly sold,” Bruce said, taking the list back, “It’s hard to harvest using commercial means and there isn’t a large demand for them. Their native range is a lot smaller in comparison to the other things on the list.”

Steph grinned, “Which means we’ve got a smaller area to search for the rest of his buddies.”

Bruce didn't smile, but he gave off an air of self-satisfaction. They had a lead. It was just an area to get started in, but it was better than anything they’d come up with since Tim had been taken.

“Got something,” Barbara said, “Security cam picked something up a few hours before you hit them at the docks.” She tapped away at the computer, pulling up a still from an old warehouse security camera. It was pointed at an awkward angle, and didn't capture that much, but in one corner, you could see a group of people walking. One of them turned his head at just the right time and you could see a partial profile of his face.

Bruce leaned in, “That’s one of them, for sure,” he said, “Leslie, was there any hair left on the body?”

“ _ Not  _ on _ the body per say _ ,” she said, “ _ But there was the end of a long braid that was near the body. Blonde I think _ .”

The man in the still had a long pale braid. The partial face wouldn't be enough for any sort of facial recognition technology, but if someone had seen this man before, they might be able to recognize him from the still. It wasn’t perfect, but they had an area and a face.

Steph couldn’t help the grin, “We’re on our way Tim, Damian. Don't you worry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dead men do tell tales, apparently. At least their stomach contents do. Also, we finally know where the title of the fic comes from! I grew up in the area that saskatoons grow and they're so fucking delicious. You can't get them in Quebec where I am now and it makes me sad.
> 
> Commissions are still open!
> 
> https://mishaberrywrites.tumblr.com/post/160814367195/misha-berrys-fanfic-commissions


	11. Elderberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a long fucking time to write. I think it's partly because it was hard to write and I'm still not entirely happy with it, but also because I've been binge reading Robin comics and that's very distracting. It is interesting to read it right from the beginning of the 90's and into the modern era of comics, just to see the shifts in art styles and the ways stories are told. As a case study for the way comics have changed over time, it's a really great read. I'm almost finished with the whole 183 issue series and I'd recommend it.

“What’s wrong with the food?” Damian asked on the second day.

Tim blinked awake from his doze, “Hm?” he asked, “Didn’t catch that.”

“The food,” Damian asked, looking over his plate of lunch critically, “You won’t touch yours, but I can’t find anything wrong with mine. Is it drugged?”

“Oh,” Tim said, sitting up a little from where he was resting against the wall, “No, it’s not drugged. There’s nothing wrong with it at all. I’m refusing to eat.”

“A hunger strike?” Damian asked, “Are you sure that’s wise?”

Tim shrugged, “Probably not, but I’m working with what I got,” he said, picking at a scab, “I’ve been self-harming as well. I used to have a cot, but it had a rough edge and I scraped my leg across it until it bled, so they took it away.”

“I was wondering why you slept on the floor,” Damian said, debating whether or not he should eat. He would need his strength if they escaped, but he didn't want to undermine Tim’s efforts.

Yesterday, some more thug types had taken Damian out of his cell to a lab of some kind. They had poked and prodded him for a while, standard physical checks, before running him through some endurance and strength tests. They had been particularly interested in his artificial spine. Damian didn't know how long they would ‘study’ him before they got bored and decided to dissect him. He comforted himself with the fact that they didn't seem to want Tim dead or even hurt.

Still, Damian was going to make them pay for what they’d done.

After nearly three months of torture, Tim’s mind was a minefield of insecurities and questionable reality. He hadn't really said much about it, but Damian kept getting little hints here and there that Tim wasn't firing on all cylinders anymore. His reaction to Damian at first was proof enough that his perception of reality was breaking down.

They had to get out of here, and fast.

Damian sighed and started eating his food. He wouldn't tell Tim to eat, figuring it would be a waste of time (stubborn, stupid,  _ idiot _ ), but Damian needed to keep his strength up in case he had to fight his way out of this place. For both of them.

“Have you managed to gather any intel on where we might be?” Damian asked once he’d finished his lunch.

Tim shook his head, “Nothing much. I know we’re somewhere where the legal drinking age is eighteen, but that’s pretty much it,” he said. He seemed to remember something, “Hey, is it July yet?” He seemed worried about it for some reason.

Damian shook his head, “Mid-June. You’ve been here for three months almost.”

“Oh, good.” Tim relaxed, confusing Damian further, “I thought my birthday had passed by.”

“Not yet,” Damian said, “We’ll celebrate when we get out of here.”

“A small party, family and friends,” Tim muttered, glaring off into space.

Damian didn't like the look on Tim’s face, “If that’s what you want,” he said.

Tim seemed to snap out of it and smiled wryly at Damian, “You know I never really had a big birthday party?” he said, “Mostly everyone just forgot.”

“They forgot your birthday?” Damian asked.

Tim nodded, “It wasn't until I knew Dick that I ever celebrated my birthday  _ on _ my actual birthday.”

Damian tilted his head, “Did your parents never celebrate with you?”

“Not that I can remember,” Tim said with a shrug, “They were always traveling, they were never in town at the right time.” He let out a sigh, “I think they forgot I was even there sometimes.”

When Damian was younger, his birthday had always been ‘celebrated’—in that something was done for his birthday, whether it was some sort of special training or initiation ceremony. He hadn’t been made to feel loved and appreciated the way he had after he had come to live with Bruce and the rest of his family, but he’d never been forgotten on his birthday. He couldn’t begin to imagine Tim’s lonely childhood, devoid of even acknowledgement from the people who should have cherished him.

“July 19th. That’s your birthday, right?” Damian said, “When we get out, we’ll throw a big party. We’ll invite everyone, the whole family and all of our friends.”

Tim turned to Damian and looked at him for a long moment, then he smiled, “That sounds nice actually,” he said.

Damian nodded, not quite managing a smile. He was too preoccupied with thinking of how to get out. If he could just get to the lock, or get something that could crack the glass, there might be some hope. All he could do currently was hope that Batman and the others were on their way.

He guessed that’s what Tim had been hoping for these last months.

Tim dozed off into a fitful sleep, and Damian didn't try to wake him, he looked like he needed it. Damian still hadn’t seen what sorts of torture they were performing on Tim, but it clearly exhausted him. In the meantime, Damian scoured his cell, trying to think up ways to get out.

An hour later, a troupe of people came in; six guards, two lab coats, and a kitchen worker. Damian didn't have time to wonder what they were going to do before they stormed into Tim’s cell. He watched in horror as they held Tim down and forced his mouth open, only to shove a tube down it.

“Leave him alone!” Damian pounded on the glass. If he had something to hit it with, he might crack it where the slot was, where it was weak.

Instead, Damian could nothing but watch as Tim was force fed, his stomach turning in sympathy. Tim put up as good a struggle as he was able, but there were too many people to fight against even if Tim was at full health.

It was over quite quickly, but it seemed to take forever. As soon as they had the entire contents of the jar in Tim’s stomach, they dropped him and quickly left, leaving Tim on the ground, heaving, but not throwing up.

“Are you alright?” Damian asked, shaking with rage. If he could get his hands on those men, he wasn’t sure what he’d do to them.

Tim coughed, “Fine,” he croaked, “They do that every couple of days. They’ll probably drag me off to the lab soon. I think the drugs Dr. Colin uses require me to have something in my system.”

Damian growled and paced around his cell, “When Father and the others get here, we’ll make sure they pay.”

“You think they’re coming?” Tim asked.

Damian didn’t answer right away. There was something in Tim’s voice that he didn’t like, a shade of desperation and disbelief. Did Tim not believe that everyone was searching for him?

“Of course,” Damian answered Tim eventually, trying to be careful.

Tim bit his lip and glanced away. He didn't believe Damian, at least not fully, “You’re right. They’ll be looking for you.”

“ . . . You as well,” Damian said, “Did you think we wouldn't search for you?”

“I don’t know!” Tim shouted, leaping to his feet, “I don’t know anymore! I don't know what’s  _ real _ anymore!” He paced around his cell, a strange, manic look in his eye, “It feels like my brain is ripping itself apart! I don’t know if half my thoughts are even my own anymore! I don’t know who to trust. Fucking hell, I’m not sure if you’re really  _ here _ right now!” Tim turned and slammed his hands on the glass, startling Damian a little.

Damian panicked a little as Tim began to punch the glass again, reopening the wounds on his hands, “Drake! Tim! Stop it! You’re hurting yourself!”

Tim didn’t seem to hear him. He kept pounding on the glass until there were spots of blood on the glass, dripping down to the floor. Tim collapsed to the floor, panting and exhausted. Damian strained to hear what he was saying, “I hate this. I hate this. I want to go home. I wish I was dead.”

Damian’s voice stuck in his throat. What should he say? What  _ could _ he say? Tim had been tortured and drugged for months, it was amazing he wasn’t already mad. Damian wanted to help, but stuck in the cell across with no way to get to Tim, there was nothing he could do. The closest thing Damian had to helpful was a half-formed plan to fight his way out while he was in the lab, but there was no guaranteeing he’d be able to come back for Tim, or that he wouldn't get killed in the process.

He couldn’t abandon Tim. Not with him like this.

True to Tim’s prediction, a bunch of guards came to collect him some time later. Damian shouted at them, but it was more for Tim’s sake than to actually accomplish anything. Damian had to make sure Tim knew that he was on his side, that he was trying to help him.

Dinner came and went without Tim making a reappearance. Tim had said that the torture sessions could last a few hours or so, but when the lights went out for the night, Damian wondered if maybe Tim had been mistaken. Perhaps the drugs affected his sense of time? It wouldn’t be unheard of.

‘Daylight’ came and there was still no sign of Tim. Damian demanded information until he was hoarse at both the cameras and the people who brought him food, but nothing was forthcoming.

It was after lunch when Tim was returned to his cell, nearly twenty-four hours since he’d been taken. Three thugs dragged his limp body through the hall and dropped him in his cell before turning and leaving.

“Tim!” Damian called, “Tim, are you alright?”

Tim didn’t seem to hear him, he didn’t react at all. The thugs had left him on his side, in the recovery position, and it gave Damian a perfect view of Tim’s face. His eyes were wide open, unfocused, staring off into nothing. Damian called for a him a few more times, but Tim didn't even flinch, locked in his own head by drugs and whatever nastiness Dr. Haverford had done to his brain. Damian paced around a little, trying to think of something to do, some way he could help.

There was nothing to be done, really, which left Damian to wait it out. Five hours later, Tim was still laying unblinking on the floor, but he began to stir. Damian perked up, “Tim?” he called, hoping that he was finally coming around.

It took another hour for Tim to get to something resembling consciousness. Groaning, Tim sat up, cradling his head. His movements were slow and a little wobbly, like he was still under the influence of whatever Dr. Colin had pumped into his system. He managed to hold his head up enough to look at Damian, blinking hard (his eye must be dried from keeping them open for so long).

“Tim, are you alright?” Damian asked, “Maybe you should lie down?”

“Damian?” Tim slurred, “When did you get here?”

Damian blinked, mind stalling for a moment, “Tim . . . I’ve been here for days.”

Tim looked confused, “Have you?” he asked. Slowly, he smiled, “How have you been?”

“ . . . Tim, where are we right now?” Damian asked, trying not to panic. Was this an after-effect from the drugs, or had they finally cracked Tim?

Tim lolled his head around, looking over his surroundings, “Dad’s place . . . no, that’s not right, he’s not . . . um, my head really hurts.” his hand came up to cradle his head again, “We’re . . . where are we? We’re somewhere, I know that. Not . . . not in Gotham. Somewhere . . . somewhere . . . He’s not my dad. He’s not my dad.”

Tim continued to ramble and Damian watched helplessly. He didn’t know what he could do; he wasn’t any good with people and Tim especially. They had never really built the relationship that Damian had gained with Dick, or Stephanie, and beyond that, they had never liked each other much anyway.

“Get some sleep Tim,” Damian said eventually, “It’ll help.” He hoped.

Tim didn't need much coaxing, and sprawled out across the floor readily. He was completely passed out, leaving Damian to mull things over.

It was the drugs, Damian was sure of it. Tim had been holding his own for three months, and he was nowhere near this far gone when Damian had first arrived. He’d been spooked, for sure, but he’d eventually been able to suss out what was real and what wasn’t. That, plus Tim’s sluggish movements made Damian sure that whatever was wrong with Tim was the result of the drugs, not a broken mind.

The hall door opened and Damian looked up, expecting dinner. Instead, Business Suit strolled in, humming to himself. Damian felt a spike of rage, but he quelled it as best he could.

“ _ You _ ,” he snarled, just barely keeping himself from trying to attack the glass again, “You’re going to pay for all that you’ve done.”

“I don't think so,” Business Suit said, stopping to watch Tim’s sleeping form, “It’s been months and your daddy dearest still isn’t even close to catching up with me. I’m not like those other little freaks he encounters, I don't feel the need to announce my presence.”

“You’re as arrogant as you are stupid,” Damian growled, “You’re never even going to see him coming.”

Business Suit chuckled and finally turned to address Damian face-to-face, “‘Arrogant?’ Pot, meet kettle,” he said, crossing the hall to lean against the glass of Damian’s cell, “I’m incredibly well hidden, and I don’t feel the need to do stupid things like use obvious pseudonyms or throw around ridiculous symbolisms like all you costumed types. I’m not a huge player in anyone’s schemes, but I have enough connections to buffer me against any investigation.” He grinned, showing off his too-straight, too-white teeth, “He’ll chase a hundred false leads before he gets close to me. And by the time he does, little Timmy here will be at my side, where he belongs.”

“You’re sick,” Damian snarled, “And you clearly underestimate my father, and my family. You’ll be up to your ears in your own ruin before you realize it’s even happened.”

Business Suit laughed, “Well you're the little poet, aren’t you? Honestly, if you weren’t such a little brat, I might have considered you for the part. But you’re not the brain that Tim is, he’s the perfect mix of skill and smarts that I need. It’s true that he’s being a little more resistant to reprogramming than I expected, but he’ll wear himself out eventually. If he was easy to break, I might be more nervous about taking him in.”

_ He really likes the sound of his own voice _ , Damian thought, “He’ll die before he works for you.”

Business Suit shrugged, “That’s not optimal, but we’d at least have his corpse to harvest for DNA. I know some wonderful people who do all kinds of work with cloning. I’m sure I can persuade them to clone me an adorable little son. It would be a few more years than I expected to put my plans in place, but I’m a patient person.”

Damian couldn’t reign in his temper anymore, “We’ll destroy you!” he shouted, throwing himself into the glass, “We’ll tear you apart!”

Business Suit laughed, “You’re welcome to try, little birdie, but I wonder if you should be throwing yourself against the glass like that. Wouldn’t want to kill anymore brain cells.”

Damian snarled, “If I ever get my hands on you—”

“You won’t do a damn thing,” Business Suit said, “And neither will your daddy or any of your brothers, because I know your dirty little secret, and if they try to get at me, I’ll tell the whole world what Bruce Wayne has in his basement.”

There was a sick clench of fear in Damian’s gut. He had a point; he could let loose with the information he already knew and destroy Bruce Wayne and their whole family. That he hadn’t done so was a miracle, and they couldn’t kill him to keep him quiet.

Damian clenched his fist and glared hard, but it only caused Business Suit to laugh, “Wow, if looks could kill,” he chuckled.

“I’ll rip you to pieces, you bastard,” Damian growled lowly. He could silence him without killing him. Bruce would be angry with him for a while, but Damian had little choice.

“Now now, if my information is correct, the only bastard here is you,” Business Suit said, “Anyway, I need to get going. I’ve got business in Eastern Europe, and I hate being late for flights.” He straightened and smoothed out his suit, “Enjoy your last few weeks with Tim. I want to get a better look at that spine of yours, and the best way to do that is to do it directly.”

Business Suit turned and left the hallway, Damian shouting curses in English and Arabic at his back. He kept it up for a while after he left, but eventually stopped and sat back on the floor. There was no point in making himself hoarse.

Putting his head in his hands, Damian hoped that rescue was imminent. He didn’t want to know how long he had before they cut him open. Worse than that, he didn't know how much longer Tim could take the strain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was more of a look at the torture and shit that Tim's going through from an outside perspective. It's not very nice, is it?


	12. Raspberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this one done a lot quicker than the last one, damn. I'm going to try to get them finished sooner for you guys, but don't depend on me to keep that promise because I am a trash person with no schedule.

Finding the general area that Tim was likely in was an incredibly lucky break, but a good chunk of western Canada was still a pretty large area to search. Bruce had whittled down most of it to no less than thirty-seven Areas of Interest, and each of those areas could be as small as a middling city or an entire mountain range. They had decided that pairing up and splitting off was the best course of action and the fastest way to search each area. Dick and Steph were searching through BC’s  Northern Interior, Cass and Jason were tackling the Southern Interior, while Bruce was taking on the Coast.

Dick and Steph were on their eighth stop in almost two weeks. So far they hadn’t found anything substantial enough for further investigation, but this place looked promising. It was a little town in the Northern Interior of British Columbia called Houston, ironically enough. Situated in the middle of a valley within a vast mountain range, it was quite the picaresque little place, with snarls of forest going in all directions, the perfect place to someone you’d kidnapped. It was rich in wildlife, and it wasn’t uncommon for things like deer, moose, foxes, coyotes, bobcats, lynxes, bears, and cougars to be spotted by the townsfolk. With a population of less than 5,000 (including the surrounding area around the town), it was a quiet, sleepy little place where everyone knew each other, and strangers were instantly recognizable.

“So where are we staying?” Steph asked, “It looks like there are three places to stay in this place, two on the highway, and one in town.”

Dick glanced over at where Steph was scanning her phone, then turned his eyes back to the road, “Off the highway is probably easier, in case we have to split pretty quick.”

“So there’s the Pleasant Valley Motel and the Houston Motor Inn,” Steph said, “Keep going along highway sixteen and you should spot one of them.”

“Right-o,” Dick said, slowing as the reached the town limits. A cheery sign with a big fish on it welcomed them to the District of Houston.

They pulled into the Pleasant Valley Motel, a white and green building that looked in fair enough condition, but in need of some TLC. Dick parked in front of the office and trotted up the steps. The door was open, but there was no one at the desk.

“Hello!” he called, Steph stepping in behind him, “Anyone here?”

“Coming!” an accented voice came through the door behind the desk. An old Sikh man came shuffling through, a bright blue turban on his head and his beard almost completely white. He adjusted his glasses and smiled at them, “How can I help?”

Dick smiled back, “Hi, we’d like a room for a few nights.”

Once they had a room (two queen beds, bottom floor), they got to work. There was a little diner across the parking lot—probably owned by the same people as the Motel, since it was named the Pleasant Valley Restaurant—so they decided that was a good a place as any to start their search.

The inside of the diner was a calm and friendly as the rest of the town, and just as in need of some new paint. A couple of truckers sat around, munching their way through their food while a couple locals chatted amicably with the waitresses. There was a little display case off to one side for some pies that looked homemade.

A middle aged waitress waved at them, “Take a seat, I’ll be right with you,” she said.

Dick and Steph sat by one of the large windows, with a clear view of the restaurant, outside, and the door. The waitress bustled over with some menus and a pot of coffee.

“Hey there, what can I get you?” she asked, smiling. A real smile too, not the polite kind you saw on servers in the city.

“Coffee for now,” Dick said, flipping over his mug so she could fill it. Steph did the same and they glanced at the menus, “Can you recommend what’s good?”

“Sure thing,” the waitress said. She was older, in her 40’s maybe, her skin brown and loose from sun exposure and probably years of smoking. She poured their coffee and thought for a minute, “The Logger Burger is the specialty of the restaurant, but it’s kind of humongous, so if you’re not that hungry, maybe go with something smaller.”

Dick chatted with her for a while before she had to go off and serve someone else. Steph rolled her eyes, “Flirt,” she accused.

“Building a rapport,” Dick countered, “She’s more likely to tell us something if she likes us.”

“I don't think getting people to like us is going to be hard. Everyone is so friendly in this part of the world,” Steph said, browsing the menu.

“Canada is known for being polite,” Dick said, “But you’re right, these guys are pretty friendly so far.”

“Should be easy to get what we need and move on to the next place,” Steph said.

The waitress returned a few minutes later, “Ready to order?”

They placed their orders, and Dick was saved from having to find a way to bring it up when the waitress asked, “So what brings you into town? You don’t look like fishing people.”

“We’re passing through, really,” Dick said, “We’re kind of looking for someone.”

“Looking for someone?” the waitress asked, “A runaway?”

“Not really.” Dick fished around in his pocket, “My partner and I are actually investigating a human trafficking ring that we think might come through here.”

The waitress looked alarmed, “Human trafficking?” she asked, “How awful.”

Dick finally managed to get the photo out of his pocket, “Yeah, it’s not pretty. Have you seen anyone who looks like this?” He held up the photo, a printout of the screenshot from the security camera that caught their crispy fried friend.

The waitress studied the photo and Dick braced himself for her to say she hadn’t seen him, just like the last seven places, “You know, I think I might have.”

“Really?” Dick asked, perking up, “Where abouts?”

The waitress shifted, “There are these guys that moved into town a while back, March I think. There’s some sort of thing out in the mountains where they all work, but they come into town every few days or so to get drunk and mess with folks. I get one or two of them in here for hangover breakfasts when they get really trashed. I think I recognize the guy with the braid.”

Steph leaned forward, “You have any idea where this place they work at might be?”

The waitress shook her head, “I only see them when they’re really hungover. Too drunk from the night before to drive back to wherever they come from. You might have better luck at the bars.”

“Thank you, we’ll try that next,” Dick said, stowing the photo. He waited for the waitress to disappear into the kitchen, “Talk about a hell of a lucky break.”

“No shit,” Steph said, “But let’s check it out before we call in everyone. We’ve had one or two people think they’ve seen this guy before.”

“Yeah, but I’m feeling good about this one,” Dick said, “It’s in a remote area surrounded by forests and mountain range for miles. If you were trying to hide two kids from the whole world, this would be the place to do it. No one expects this kind of thing in this part of the world. It’s too quiet for anything exciting to happen.”

“Yeah,” Steph snorted, “I think the last time something exciting happened here might have had something to do with a really big moose wandering into town.”

“Bear, actually,” the waitress said, returning with their orders, “They shot it and you can see it displayed out front of the Visitor's Centre.”

They ate quickly, but not in a rush, even though it was killing them not to follow up immediately on their new lead. They tipped the waitress well and headed back to the motel. They would have gone to the bars right away, but it would be a little while before they opened.

“So where to next, or do we just hang around the motel for a while?” Steph asked.

“Let wander a little, see if we can’t meet some people,” Dick suggested, “There’s a park or something up the way.”

They decided to walk instead of drive, hoping to meet some people on the way and enjoy the sunshine for a while. They checked the map to see where the park was and made their way through the town. Even the middle of the town was full of greenery, and they had to cross the river to get to the park, over a little walking bridge. When they finally got to the park, they had to stop and look at the giant fishing rod.

“These people seriously love their fishing,” Steph said, looking up at the giant rod, “Guess it makes sense, Mr. Crispy had a whole lot of fish in his stomach.”

Dick looked at the little plaque, “Huh, the world’s largest fly fishing rod. How about that?”

“Guess it had to be somewhere,” Steph said, “Anyway, looks like there are people up there, shall we introduce ourselves?”

The park was dotted with a few more people than they'd seen in the rest of the town, enjoying the sunshine out on the grass. They first stopped next to two Punjabi ladies taking to each other in their native tongue. They glanced up at the two newcomers with suspicion, but not hostility.

They’d come up with the idea to use the story that they were investigating human trafficking as a cover for because it was technically true. The best way to make a lie believable was to make part of it true, and the people they were looking for did work in human trafficking (which was probably how they were able to get Tim and Damian out of the city so quickly). They had also decided to pose as private investigators rather than be affiliated with any one group, just in case things went sideways.

They were in luck it seemed, the few people they spoke to all at least had some passing recognition of the man in the photo. It was looking like this was their place.

“I’ll call the others and tell them we might have the place,” Dick said when they got back to their motel room.

“Alright, I’m going to grab a shower before we go hit the bars,” Steph said, shuffling through her bag for her toiletries.

“Don't use up all the hot water, I want to take one as well,” Dick called after her as he dialled. It rang twice before Bruce picked up, “ _What did you find_?” he asked without preamble.

Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “We think we might have found their party town,” he said, “A bunch of locals say they recognize this guy and his buddies from when they come into town to get drunk and blow off steam.”

“ _You’re sure_?” Bruce didn’t sound excited per say, but he was definitely interested.

“Positive, we went to multiple people. Steph and I are going to hit the bars next and hopefully turn up something more substantial,” Dick said, “But we’re pretty sure they're in this area.”

“ _Good work_ ,” Bruce said, “ _Call Jason and Cass and tell them to head to your location, I'll be making my way there as well_.”

“Will do,” Dick said. They said their goodbyes and Bruce hung up.

After another call to Jason and Cass and a quick shower (after Steph had used up way too much hot water), they were heading to the bar. There were only two in town, and several spots around where people went to go get drunk and enjoy the outdoors at the same time. Those spots were mostly used by locals though, since you had to know where they were and how to get to them. Out-of-towners usually stuck to the bars.

The Idyllwild was the seedier bar in town, and boasted typical bar food as well a selection of Chinese food at the diner that was attached. Dick and Steph went into the bar area and sat down, glad that the legal drinking age was low enough for Steph to join Dick.

The bartender was a Native man in his 30’s, broad and with a mildly portly belly. He nodded to them as they sat down, “What can I get you?” he asked.

“Information,” Dick said, pulling the photo out, “Have you seen this guy around?”

The bartender took one look at the photo and groaned, “Yeah I’ve seen him, bot in a while though. Good riddance, he was an asshole.”

“He cause a lot of problems?” Steph asked.

“Not as much as his friends, but I’d deal with them any day rather than put up with him,” the bartender said, “He kept going on about how ‘anyone can be Native if they just _live_ Native.’ What a piece of shit.”

“Yikes,” Steph said, “He does sound like an ass.”

“Tell me about it,” the bartender said, rolling his eyes, “He a buddy of yours?”

“Not really,” Dick said, “My partner and I are investigating a human trafficking ring that might be in the area. Is there anything you could tell us about this guy and his friends?”

“Human trafficking?” the bartender asked, looking alarmed. He paused for a moment, “You think it could have anything to with the Highway of Tears?”

“Highway of Tears?” Steph asked, “What’s that?”

“If you came into town on the 16, you’re on it. Highway 16 has had a bunch of girls go missing all along it from Prince George to Prince Rupert. Some white, most are Native,” he explained, “Some of the girls have turned up dead, but a lot are still just missing. You think these guys had anything to do with that?”

“It’s possible,” Dick said, but he wasn't convinced. That sounded more like a couple of sickos plaguing the area rather than their guys, “If there’s anything you can tell us about where they might be operating from.”

The bartender thought for a while, “They haven’t said anything, but a bunch of buddies of mine were out hunting and came across a fence.”

“A fence?” Dick asked, “What kind of fence?”

“A big-ass fence. Electrified and everything,” the bartender explained, “It’s way out in the middle of nowhere, so I don’t know how it got there without someone knowing about it, but we’ve already put in a complaint to the government.”

“You think they’ll do anything?” Steph asked.

The bartender shrugged, “I don't think so, but that’s what the tribe decided to do. It’s all Wet’suwet’en land around here, it can’t have been sold without our permission, but when as that stopped the government?” he growled bitterly, “We’ve been using this land since the beginning of time and they think they can just take it because it’s out in the middle of nowhere. Fucking whites.”

“Sorry,” Steph said automatically, “We suck like that.”

The bartender sighed, “Not your fault kid,” he said with an air of resignation, “Anyway, you think that might be where they are?”

“It’s our best guess so far,” Dick said, “Is there any way you could tell us where they saw the fence?”

“I can put you in touch with the guys who saw it, but you’ll need someone to guide you out there. Like I said, it’s way the hell out in the bush, hard to get to even if you’ve lived here for years,” the bartender said.

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Dick said, “How often do those guys come around into town?”

“Once a week, about ten at a time,” the bartender said, “They get into town Saturday afternoon, most of ‘em clear out after the bars close, but a couple are always too drunk to drive and stay in town for the night.”

“How many are there?” Steph asked, “Just ten?”

“About thirty from what I can tell,” the bartender said, “One group of ten one weekend, then the next the next week, and then the last the next week, then it starts over.”

“Which direction do they drive out of town?” Dick asked.

“They don't take the highway, that’s for sure,” the bartender said, “They come down the mining road, which make sense since Billie and the others saw the fence out in that direction.”

They talked to the bartender for a few more minutes, trying to get as much useful information that they could. When it seemed like they had gotten all that they could, the bartender—whose name was Lenny—had told them to buy something to drink or get out. With promises to get in touch with Billie, they left.

“This is definitely the place,” Steph said, “How soon will the others be here?”

“Soon,” Dick said, “Tomorrow at the latest. We should go back to the motel and get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I don't think there’s much patrolling to do out here,” Steph said with a chuckle. She looked out over the mountains in the distance, the sun setting behind them. Somewhere out there, Tim and Damian were being kept.

“We’re coming boys, just hold on,” she murmured. Dick pressed his lips together and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bats are closing in! Atwater better cover his ass.
> 
> Also, Houston BC is a real place that's really real. I should know, I grew up there. It really does have the world's largest fly fishing rod too.
> 
> Unfortunately, the Highway of Tears is also a real thing. Out of nineteen women who've gone missing or have been murdered on that highway, ten were Aboriginal, and estimates by Aboriginal groups for the real number of missing women range in the forties. You can read more about it on Wikipedia, and a Google search will turn up some charities if you want to donate.


	13. Figs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again this took a lot longer than the others. I keep binge reading comics like theres no tomorrow. I read all of Superboy's comic from the 90's in a week. I finally managed to get this finished last night at work.
> 
> Just a reminder that I do commissions. Check out my [tumblr](https://mishaberrywrites.tumblr.com/post/161363062015/misha-berrys-fanfic-commissions) for more info.

When Tim woke up the next morning, he had no recollection of how he’d acted the day before.

“You’re saying I was in with them for an entire  _ day _ ?” Tim asked, not sounding like he believed it, “It didn't feel like I was in there any longer than usual.”

“It must be the drugs,” Damian said, “You were catatonic for five hours after they brought you back and when you finally came around, you were extremely confused.”

“Fuck,” Tim growled, “No wonder I have no sense of time anymore.” He sat cross-legged on the floor and held his head in his hands, “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Damian bit his lip, “Will you be . . . alright?” he asked.

Tim looked up at Damian. The younger boy looked and sounded worried, which threw Tim a little. The last time they’d talked, before any of this had happened, Damian had been doing his best to be the one to drive Tim out of his mind. This concern for Tim’s well being was new and a little off-putting.

No, that wasn't fair to Damian. As much as the boy had been an insufferable brat when he'd first arrived in their lives, he'd grown a lot in the last few years. He was still an insufferable brat, but it was nowhere near as bad as when he’d first arrived. Dick had said it best, the kid practically bled the need to be accepted, and Tim really hadn't given him a lot of chances. He'd been too spooked by Damian’s attack and too hurt by his constant digs at how Tim wasn't Bruce’s ‘real’ son, a hurt which was only exacerbated by Dick choosing Damian to be his Robin over Tim. He knew why Dick had done it, but it still stung a little sometimes.

Tim sighed, “I’ll be fine when we get out of here,” he said, though he didn't sound very convincing, even to himself. The others would come, for sure, but they would come for Damian.

_ Because they don't really love you _ , a nasty little voice whispered in Tim’s ear,  _ They’re not your family. You own parents didn't love you, what makes you think they do? Useless, you were only ever a replacement that they took pity on. _

“Shut up,” Tim hissed to himself, trying to block out the voice. It was getting louder lately, and Tim’s attempts to ignore it weren’t working as well. It only stayed quiet when he focussed on something else, like pain.

“Tim. Tim!” Damian called, slapping the glass. Tim jolted into attention, suddenly becoming aware that he’d bitten into his arm and was bleeding quite badly.

“Shit,” Tim hissed, grabbing the end of his shift to press to the wound, “How long did I check out?”

“Nearly an hour.” Damian was pacing up and down the glass, “We need to get you out of here.”

Tim made a noise of agreement, “Would that I could, but I’ve checked the place over time and time again. There’s no way out. The toilet is cemented into the wall, the vents are too small to be useful, and the glass is bulletproof. Aside from that, we have no idea where we are, how big this places is, or what other security measures there are,” he said, “It’s hopeless.”

Damian growled and paced around like an annoyed cat, “There must be something. Do they ever leave you unbound?”

Tim shook his head, “Never, and when they do, I’ve always got three guards with semi automatics aimed at my head. We’re good, but we’re not that good.”

Damian growled, “When they take me into the lab, they have at least nine guards standing by,” he said, “Even if I managed to slip away, there’s no guarantee that I would be able to come back for you.”

“But you might be able to get away on your own,” Tim said, “If you have the chance to get out and escape, you should take it.”

“What about you?” Damian asked, “I came all this way for you. I’m not going to leave you again.”

Tim shook his head, “Don’t worry about me,” he said, “I’ll . . . I’ll be alright.”

Damian growled, “No, not this time, Tim. I’m not going to leave you behind.”

Tim suddenly slammed on the glass, startling Damian, “You will because you have to!” he shouted, “They’ve already lost you once, what do you think it will do to them if you die a second time!?”

“And you believe they won’t care if you die!?” Damian shouted back, “Do you know what everyone did when we thought you were dead!? Do you have  _ any _ idea what it did to us!?”

Tim was about to say something else, but he was stopped by the sight of tears in Damian’s eyes, “It  _ killed _ us!” he shouted, “Father, Grayson, Todd, Brown, Cain, Pennyworth, we all thought you were dead and it killed us! Todd was going to kill the Joker, he was going to throw  _ everything _ away and kill him because he thought you were dead! Cain couldn't speak full sentences for  _ days _ after, even when we found out you were alive! Your alien boyfriend flew in and went catatonic when he found out!”

_ Kon _ , Tim’s heart clenched. He hadn’t seen Conner in a week when he’d been taken, things as busy in Gotham was they were. He’d kept postponing their dates and making excuses.

_ He must have thought you didn't love him anymore _ , the voice insisted,  _ He’s probably moved on by now. _

Damian’s voice cut through the voice before Tim could spiral too far into his own head, “The only reason you’re like this is because of what they’ve done to your head! You  _ know _ that everyone cares about you! You have to know that I—!” Damian’s voice choked up, tears flowing freely down his cheeks now. He swallowed thickly, his throat trying to work around the hard lump that formed.

“Hey,” Tim tried to soothe, not sure what to do. He knew how to deal with scared, upset kids, it was part of the Bat-training he’d received, but he didn’t know how to deal with Damian, “It’s okay, it’s alright. You don't have to cry over me.”

“I’m not crying,” Damian sniffed, scrubbing at his eyes furiously, “But it  _ won’t _ be okay, not until I get you out of here. I  _ refuse _ to leave you. I can’t . . . I can’t lose anymore family.”

Tim didn’t know what to do. Damian had a better chance of escape, they didn't need him as much and he was left unbound in the lab when they did physical tests on him. He could maybe create a diversion and slip out, fight if he needed to. He was a good fighter and he could probably get out if he was lucky and smart. On the other hand, they never let Tim have free use of his limbs while he was out of his cell, he was too valuable to them.  _ Dad loved him too much to let him get away. _ He wouldn't be able to slip away like Damian, even if he hadn’t been starving himself. Aside from that, they were going to dissect Damian, cut him open and study him so they could try and give his enhancements to Tim. Damian had even less time than Tim had, so he needed to get out of here fast.

But Tim couldn’t really bring himself to say that to Damian. Of course Damian knew all that stuff already, and he was still insisting that they stick together. The younger boy was arrogant and foolish, but he didn't have a deathwish. He wanted to escape, but he didn't want to do it without Tim, and Tim . . . wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Damian,” Tim tried again, ‘We’ll find a way out, but you have to listen to me. If you have a chance to leave, and what you say is true about Bruce and the others, then you can help them take Business Suit down.”

Damian seemed to consider it, “Alright, but only if we can’t find another way out of here,” he said, “I’m not leaving you behind.”

“And I don’t want you to get dissected,” Tim said, managing a smile, “You’re a brat, but you’re still my younger brother, and it’s my job to make sure you live.”

Tim still remembered what it did to everyone when Damian died, how devastated everyone had been. Bruce hadn’t been so close to losing it since Tim had started all that time ago, after Jason had died. He didn't want anyone to feel anymore pain like that, he didn't want them to lose any more family.

They sat together for a while, in silence; Damian trying to get his emotions under control and Tim trying not to sink into his own head. Tim couldn't focus on anything, his thoughts were crashing around him like waves, trying to pull him under. The nasty little thoughts in his head wouldn't leave him alone. They only seemed to calm down if he had something to do, and there wasn’t much he could occupy himself with in his cell.

“Hey Damian?” Tim called, leaning against the glass. He was so tired all the time.

There was a snuffling noise from the other cell, “Yes?”

“Can we just . . . talk? About anything? I . . . it helps me stay here,” Tim said, hoping he didn't sound as afraid as he felt.

Tim didn't hear anything for a moment, “Alright,” Damian said, “Do you want to talk or do you want me to talk?”

“You start, I’ll jump in,” Tim said, relieved.

“Okay,” Damian said, then stalled. He wasn’t normally a very talkative person, “Grayson introduced me to a new video game some time ago.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the game?” Tim asked.

“Overwatch,” Damian said, “It’s fun I suppose, I haven’t played it much.”

“Why not?” Tim asked. Damian’s love for video games contrasted starkly with his attitude sometimes, but it was nice to see the kid engage in something age appropriate.

“Grayson gave it to me to put my mind off of how the search was going for you,” Damian said sullenly, “It didn’t work.”

Tim worried his lip, “Sorry,” he said.

“It’s not your fault,” Damian said. He noticed the mood starting to sour and adopted a haughty tone, “But, if you feel the need to pay penance, you may challenge me in a game.”

Tim blinked, surprised. He was about to ask what this was all about when he realized that Damian was  _ teasing _ him. Badly, and in a typical Damian fashion, but teasing nonetheless. He smiled, “Sure, sounds like a plan.”

Damian’s mouth twitched, and he seemed more calm now, and Tim was feeling a little more stable. Tim smiled back a little, “Thanks Damian.”

Damian nodded, “You’re welcome, Tim.”

* * *

 

Bruce arrived late in the night, knocking on Dick and Steph’s door long after they’d gone to bed. Dick managed to get semi-awake and let him in, but they only got a few hours sleep before Jason and Cass arrived. They ended up piled into the tiny room for a few hours before they had to get up at dawn.

“Five more minutes,” Jason groaned, rolling over and covering his head with a pillow.

“We’re meeting Billie in a half an hour Jason, get up,” Bruce warned, already dressed and ready to go. He was eager to find wherever this fence was, one step closer to getting his boys back.

Dick stepped out of the bathroom, cleaned and dressed, “We should hurry. Lenny said Billie would on without us whether we show up or not.”

They eventually made their way out to the Visitor’s Centre, where Lenny said Billie would be, ‘next to the big bear’. They were going to drive and then hike out to where Billie had seen the fence.

“That’s a really big bear,” Jason said as they approached, “Fuck, it’s nose is the size of my face.”

“This thing wandered into  _ town _ , and people still  _ live _ here?” Steph asked incredulously, “I’ve lived in Gotham my whole life and if this thing wandered through the streets, I’d pack my shit and leave town in a hurry.”

“Nine hundred and seventy-five pounds,” came a voice from behind them. A Native woman was standing some feet away, “That’s how much it weighed when they shot it.”

“Holy shit,” Dick said, “That’s a hell of a bear.”

“Are you with Billie?” Bruce asked, all business.

“I am Billie,” she said, “You’re the folks who’re investigating that fence, right? Thought there was just the two of you.”

“Our other partners arrived last night,” Dick quickly explained. He climbed down from where Cass was taking his picture next to the bear and held his hand out to shake, “I’m Richie, this is Stella, Cady, Justin, and Ben. Lenny said you could take us to where you found that fence?”

Billie shook Dick’s hand, smiling warmly. Her teeth were slightly yellow and she was missing a tooth, “That’s right. Me and my boys were out hunting and we came across it. I’ve walked these mountains since I could walk, and I’ve never seen that fence before.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with those men who’ve been coming into town recently?” Steph asked.

Billie rolled her eyes, “Girlie, I’m a hick, but I’m not stupid. We put it together that they were connected as soon as we saw the fence. We’ve tried to talk to them about what the hell they’re doing out there on the mountain, but they keep saying they ‘only work there’, and we’d need to talk to their boss.”

“Have you tried running them out of town?” Jason asked, “After taking down Smokey back there, a couple of drunks should be no issue.”

“And have the cops come breathing down our necks about it?” Billie said, “Not a chance, cutie. Aside from getting too drunk on the weekends and a few misdemeanors, these guys haven’t done anything wrong. And whatever’s behind the fence is a government thing.” She gave them a calculating look, “Kinda hoped you guys were government or something, maybe CSIS, I don't know, here to solve our problem for us.”

Dick smiled at her reassuringly, “Not really, we’re a private outfit. We’re not connected to any government, Canadian or otherwise, but we are here to help.”

Billie nodded, “Good, never liked government types,” she said, “Anyway, the boys and I are parked over here, you guys ready?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, perilously close to losing his patience. He masked it well, but Dick and the others could tell he was close to the edge.

They walked over to where two other guys were waiting for them, one Native, and the other white. They introduced themselves as John and Mark, and they all spent the next few minutes getting everyone situated in the trucks.

“Are the rifles necessary?” Dick asked, “We’re just hiking.”

“You saw the size of that bear ‘Richie’,” Jason said, “I’m starting to wish I’d packed my glocks along.”

“Handguns’ll do you no good,” Mark said, “Other than make a critter mad. Guns like that are people-killers, not critter-killers. You can’t even own a gun like that in Canada without some serious permits.”

“Bummer,” Jason said, but Cass elbowed him.

“No people-killers, no people getting killed,” she pointed out.

“And that’s why we don't have school shootings,” Billie said with a chuckle, “We kill each other the old fashion way up here.”

The rest of the trip out of town was filled with similar dark humor. After an hours drive, they reached the end of a dirt road.

“This is our stop, we walk from here,” Billie said, shouldering her rifle, “It’s another hour and a half to the fence, but if no one straggles, we should make good time.”

“You sure you city folks are good for this hike?” Mark asked, “It’s not a walk in the park, that’s for sure.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Steph said, physically restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

They trekked off into the forest, glad to finally be moving. It was a shame they were here on such serious business, the whole area was beautiful. They were surrounded on all sides by lush green forest, tall trees creating a canopy that shielded them from the worst of the summer heat, but let glimmers of sunlight through. The forest floor was littered with red pine needles that crunched underfoot, along with various flowers, grasses, and mushrooms. Fallen trees created natural archways, overgrown with mosses and lichens. There was the smell of pine and dust in the air, like it hadn't rained in a while and things were extra dry. Birds chirped and sang all around them, swooping overhead while squirrels and chipmunks argued and chattered at them. Something yowled in the distance and they stopped for a moment.

“A fox,” John said, “Nothing to worry about.”

They continued on, but Mark stepped off the path for a moment and started picking berries off of a bush, “These are really good, try ‘em,” he insisted, showing them the little purple berries.

“What are they?” Dick asked, popping few in his mouth. They were sweet, but a little tart at the same time.

“Those are saskatoons,” John said, “They grow all over around here.”

“No kidding,” Jason said, trying to keep a straight face. To cover it, he ate a few berries, “Damn, those are good. Like a cranberry and a blueberry had a delicious baby.”

“We better be careful,” Billie said, “Where there's food, there's critters.”

They kept going for some time, winding through the forest in a nonsensical pattern, though Billie, John, and Marl seemed to know where they were going. Bruce was tracking their progress through GPS so they would be able to follow the same trail if they needed to.

About an hour and a half into their hike, they finally spotted the fence. It was about nine feet tall, chain link with barbed wire spiralled at the top. There was a faint hum if you listened, signalling that it was electrified. Bruce picked up a stick and tossed it at the fence, watching it spark against the metal.

“This just showed up around the same time those guys did. The land belongs to the tribe, so there's no way it could have been sold without us knowing about it,” Billie said.

“What I don't understand is how the hell they got it out here. There's no roads for at least ten klicks in any direction,” John said.

“Let's walk along it for a bit, see if there's anything else we can find,” Bruce said, “We’ll split up and go in both directions.”

Bruce, Dick, Steph, and Billie went left, while Cass, Jason, Mark, and John went left. They agreed to meet up at the other side of the fence, or signal with a rifle shot if something went wrong. They couldn't see how long the fence was for the trees, so it could be a while before they found the other side.

Bruce’s party found a corner fairly quickly and rounded it. Both side of the fence had forest on it, with parts of the fence nailed right to the trees rather than fence posts. They couldn't see anything on the other side of the fence, so whatever the fence was protecting was fairly far inside of it. They didn't find anything interesting until they came across a sign hung on the fence.

“Warning, electrified fence. No trespassing,” Steph read, “At least they posted a warning.”

“They’re the ones trespassing,” Billie growled, “I’d like to know who thought they could build out here without even telling anyone. I'd like to pump their ass full of buckshot.”

Dick leaned closer to the sign, reading the fine print in one corner, “Looks like we’ve got a company name here,” he said, taking out his camera and taking a few pics, “We can probably determine who owns the fence at least.”

They continued for some time along the fence, finally meeting up with the others after nearly an hour, “Find anything?” Bruce asked.

“Found the gate, and a bunch of horse plops,” John said, “So we know where and how they get in.”

“Horse would do it,” Billie said, “No way you could get a vehicle through the bush, but a horse could take you all over the mountain, even without a path.”

“We found a sign posted that had a company name. It might lead us to whoever built this fence at least,” Dick said.

“It’s a start,” Bruce said, “Let’s head back and get some planning done. We need to know what we’re up against.”

Tim and Damian were in there somewhere, Bruce just knew it, and it was taking all he had not to climb up a tree and leap over it to go find them. It was tempting, but incredibly foolish to jump into what was most definitely a fight without knowing who he was up against. He would be back though, and whoever had done this was going to wish they’d never messed with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys are getting closer and closer. The 975lb bear is also a real thing that's really real and it did wander into my town. Don't mess with bears man.
> 
> Also I saw Wonder Woman and it's AMAZING OMG EVERYONE NEEDS TO SEE IT!!!


	14. Tayberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I got this one done fast. The wonders of down time on a nightshift.
> 
> [Commission me!](https://mishaberrywrites.tumblr.com/post/161363062015/misha-berrys-fanfic-commissions)

After hiking back to the trucks and driving back into town, they’d wasted no time in contacting Barbara and Alfred back in Gotham with the information they’d found. Dick sent her the photo with the company name, while she looked through satellite photos of the area, looking for any kind of structure that might house two kidnapped kids and at least thirty armed guards.

“ _ The company is a shell corporation, no surprise there _ ,” Barbara said her picture a little grainy through the laptop screen, “ _ It’ll take some time to untangle what’s probably a mess of them. Give me ten minutes or so _ .”

“Anything on the satellites?” Bruce asked.

“ _ Not yet, but I’m looking _ ,” Barbara said, “ _ I had to ‘borrow’ the Watchtower satellite camera to do it, but I’m getting some clear pictures. If there's anything there, I'll find it. _ ”

“Do I have to let them know it’s you, or did you actually  _ ask _ to borrow it this time?” Bruce wasn't looking forward to explaining what they were doing if she hadn't let them know. Not that they wouldn't be understanding, the whole Justice League would probably come to help them if they knew what they were up to, but Green Lantern was on duty for the week and Bruce avoided talking to him if he could.

“ _ They know it’s me, or they should by now _ ,” Barbara said, unconcerned, “ _ I've also take the liberty of looking for properties that house horses in the immediate area. There are three that are big enough to have enough horses to supply a place like that, but only one is for rent. I’m trying to figure out who’s renting it, but I think it might be another shell corporation situation _ .”

“Atta girl,” Dick said, “I ever tell you how gorgeous you are when you work?”

“ _ Yes, but I don't mind getting a refresher now and again _ ,” Barbara hummed, tapping away at the keyboard they couldn't see.

“Can you two flirt another time? Like, any other time?” Jason asked, wrinkling his nose, “You're gross.”

“Jealous,” Dick said.

“Enough,” Bruce warned, “Is there anything else you can tell us, Oracle?”

“ _ You said you wanted to make your move on the weekend when a bunch of the guards are in town _ ?” Barbara tapped a few buttons, “ _ Looks like there's a massive storm heading for the area. It’ll hit either Friday or Saturday, and have a lot of lightning and thunder, so be prepared for that _ .”

Bruce hummed, “That's pretty good for us, actually. It’ll provide some cover and deter anyone from running off into the forest and escaping.”

“Silver linings, I suppose,” Steph said from where she was sprawled across the bed, leafing through some pamphlets she got at the Visitor’s Center.

“ _ Satellite images are starting to come in _ ,” Barbara said, “ _ I've got the horse farm here. Looks like they have a lot of vehicles as well, plus a helicopter _ .”

“A helicopter?” Dick asked.

“Probably how they moved all the materials out there in the first place,” Bruce said, “As well as for emergencies.”

“ _ Most likely _ ,” Barbara said, “ _ I'm getting images of inside the fenced area now. I'm not seeing a large compound, but there is a cluster of smaller buildings. Looks like they all connect somehow _ .”

Bruce grumbled; that wasn't the ideal setup if you were the invading force. Even if you captured one building, the enemy could leapfrog around to the other buildings and hole up for a siege. They would have to be careful about how they did this.

There was a ping from the other side of the call, “ _ Got one of the corporations untangled _ ,” Barbara said, “ _ Anyone heard of King Pegasus Corp _ ?”

“Sounds a little familiar,” Jason said, “Weren't they involved in some kind of scandal?”

“ _ Some years ago, yeah. They’re a contracting company that nearly went under, but they managed to make a major comeback recently. They paid for the fencing materials, and probably the other building materials as well _ ,” Barbara explained, “ _ I'm not sure what they have to do with this. I can't seem to find a connection anywhere _ .”

“Maybe it’ll help if you find out who’s renting the horse farm?” Cass suggested, “Could be the same people. Could be someone else.”

“ _ That's a little more tricky. It's being rented by someone by the name of Gavin Foster, though I'm betting it’s on behalf of the company he represents. I’ve almost got the shell companies figured out, but it's harder to say with any certainty _ .” Barbara tapped away at the computer for a few minutes before another ping sounded, “ _ Got it. They Calvin and Co. Company. They mostly do properties and have the same history as King Pegasus. They nearly went under some years ago but made a comeback a while later _ .”

“Is there any connection?” Bruce asked, “Have they ever worked together before?”

“ _ Not from what I can tell. Give me a few minutes, _ ” Barbara said, clicking away at the keys. They waited patiently for her to turn something up, “ _ Here’s something. They both made their comeback after meeting with the same investment advisor, Jeremiah Atwater IV _ .”

Bruce’s heart stopped and his gut turned to ice for a moment, “Atwater?” he asked, his throat sticking a little around the name.

“ _ I’m looking him up now _ ,” Barbara said, not noticing Bruce’s reaction through the laptop camera, “ _ Looks like he mostly works freelance. Smart. He brings companies back from the edge of death, then gets them to do little favours for him. Nothing that would arouse suspicion, and nothing that could be connected back to him if you only look at one of the companies. I’m betting he’s got a dozen or so other companies doing the same thing for him _ .”

Bruce barely heard her over the rushing in his ears. By now, Cass and Dick had realized something was going on, and Jason and Steph were starting to catch on, “Bruce?” Dick asked, “What is it? What's wrong?”

“He came to Wayne Enterprises,” Bruce said, grinding his teeth so hard his jaw creaked, “He was right in front of me and I didn't even know it. He  _ asked _ me to my face about Tim.”

“Who did?” Steph asked, looking like she was ready to bolt.

“Atwater,” Bruce snarled, the name coming out like a curse, “He was at Wayne Enterprises a few weeks ago, completely legitimately. He must have done it to rub my face it in.” Bruce forced himself to take a breath, to try and quell his rage. It bubbled up in a flash and he snatched up the clock on the bedside table and hurled it at the wall, watching it shatter into a hundred cheap plastic pieces.

Steph yelped and ducked out of the way, while Cass sprang up and shoved at Bruce, “Out,” she ordered, pushing him towards the door, “You need to cool down.”

If it were any of the others, he might have snapped at them, nearly bitten their head off, but Cass was Cass, and he turned and left the cramped motel room, stalking out into the parking lot. For a moment, he didn't know where he was heading, but there was a little wooded area some distance away, if he cut across the back of the convenience store and hopped a fence. He walked off in that direction, needing the privacy.

Cass found him a half an hour later, after he’d split his knuckles open punching a stump to splinters to vent his frustrations. She didn't hesitate for a moment, knowing that he was done now; Cass laid a hand on his arm and rested her forehead against his shoulder, saying nothing.

“I'm sorry,” Bruce said eventually, “I didn't mean to scare anyone.”

Cass closed her eyes and breathed deeply, “We’ll get him,” she promised, “We’ll make him pay for everything he’s done.”

Bruce wrapped his arms around her, “We will,” he said, feeling the rage evaporate into cold determination. No one messed with his kids and got away with it.

* * *

 

Business Suit was back, this time with three thugs in tow. Tim had come from another torture session not too long ago and Damian was away in the lab, being tested. Tim’s limbs still felt too weak to hold him up from the drugs, so he didn't throw himself at the glass like he usually did. The fucker probably planned that.

The thugs entered his cell quickly and descended on Tim, tying his hands behind his back with zip ties. Tim gave a token struggle, but he was well aware that he didn't have the strength to resist. He was really questioning the intelligence of a hunger strike in retrospect, but it was too late to turn back now. His body was as frayed as his mind was these days, and soon he might be nothing more than a drooling idiot.

It wasn’t  _ fair _ . Tim had figured out who Batman was all on his own when he was nine years old. He’d become Robin at first not because he’d wanted to be a hero, but because he understood that he needed to be one. He’d trained hard, worked hard, done everything in his power to help people, and this was his reward? He’d sacrificed so much, and the universe kept taking and taking and  _ taking _ . How much longer until he had nothing left to give?

Gentle fingers slid through Tim’s limp hair, cool and soothing. Tim let out a deep sigh and relaxed into it, trying to remember the last time someone had pet his hair like this. Ever since he was a child he’d loved being held and cuddled and petted, but there had rarely been anyone around to do so. Tim had learned to live without it for so long that when he met Dick, who was the most tactile person he knew, and when his father tried to get close to him, it had been awkward. So awkward that they had mistaken how Tim was unused to physical contact for uncomfortableness and pulled back, stopped touching him, even though all Tim wanted to do was sink into their arms and bask in their affection and warmth. Only Conner had ever figured it out.

Conner, oh Conner. Tim missed him so much that it hurt. He’d thought the other boy was too reckless and cocky at first, too brash and stupid to be a good hero, but Conner had always had a good heart, the most selfless heart he knew. Conner was so good and kind, it was one of the reasons Tim fell in love with him.  Conner would die all over again to save just one life, if he had to.

The thought of Conner dying, leaving him again,  _ abandoning him like all the rest _ , made Tim's eyes sting with tears. He sucked in a shaky breath and tried not to sob. Someone lifted him up and placed him against their chest, cuddling him close and continuing to pet his hair.

“There there Tim,” Business Suit cooed, rocking him gently, “You’ll be alright, you’ll be fine.”

Tim let the tears fall down his cheeks, leaning into the touch, “I hate you,” he sobbed, “I hate you and I'm going to kill you.”

“I know you must feel awful right now,” Business Suit said, “But it’ll pass. You'll feel better soon. It’ll be alright.”

Tim continued to sob, hating himself for loving the touch, hating himself for not fighting, hating himself for being weak and pathetic. He wanted to rip his own eyes out, tear himself to pieces for being like this, for letting this man do this to him. He was weak,  _ pathetic, he didn't deserve to be loved. _

“It's okay Tim, I love you. I forgive you,” Business Suit said, “After everything that's happened, everything that you’ve done, I still love you.”

Tim whimpered, feeling his gut clench at the words. After everything, all the times he’d been abandoned, all the times he’d failed, he was still loved. Someone as awful as him was still loved. He curled into Business Suit’s chest, his own chest heaving as he sobbed.

As Tim was warring in his own head, something quiet bubbled up to the surface. Tim almost ignored it, but Damian’s voice was insistent, even when it was only in his own head.  _ You know that everyone cares about you! You have to know that I—! _ What had he been about to say? Did Damian care about him? That wasn't right, Damian hated him, he’d tried to kill him. But that was so long ago, wasn't it? Damian was a brat, but he’d risked his life to come rescue Tim. He'd refused to give up on him, even though it was clear by now that Tim was a lost cause. Why had he done that?

Damian cared about him, that was why. Tim was going crazy, but he was still the best detective in the family, and all evidence suggested that Damian cared about him.

Damian cared about him. He was loved.

Tim felt a seething, roiling rage swell up from the pit of his belly and consume his entire being. The soothing, comforting fingers in his hair felt like eels, sick and grimy. The chest under him was wrong, all wrong, not enough hard muscle and too much soft fat. Where was Conner’s marble-like chest, or Dick’s flexible torso, or even Bruce’s awkward arm around him? This was all wrong.

Seized by hatred and anger, Tim lashed out. His hands were still bound, but his teeth weren't. He bit down on Business Suit’s neck, misjudging where he was at and mostly getting his shirt collar. Business Suit yelped anyway as Tim put as much force as he could muster into it. Tim tasted blood on his tongue and grinned. Someone grabbed his hair and yanked him backwards, wrenching his neck painfully, but Tim only laughed a little hysterically. Someone struck him across the face and he collapsed to the carpeted floor.

The zip tie was cut from around his wrists, but Tim didn't bother trying to get up right away. It wasn't until he heard the door click shut that he managed to get himself into a sitting position. Business Suit was standing safely on the other side, patting away the blood on his neck. It was a small bite, barely even bleeding, but Tim grinned anyway, knowing he’d resisted just a little longer.

“Clearly I misjudged how far along your treatment has come,” Business Suit said, trying to sound unruffled, but failing, “I’ll have to have a chat with the doctors.”

“You’re going to fail,” Tim said, “You’re failing and it’s making you crazy that I won't break.” He giggled again, “You’re running out of time,” he sang.

Business Suit’s mouth twitched, “On the contrary, I have all the time in the world Tim,” he said, “It’s little Damian who’s running out of time soon.”

“He’ll escape,” Tim said, “He's way too smart and skilled to stay in here forever. You're going to make a mistake and he’s going to get away.”

“We’ll see about that,” Business Suit said, doing a poor job of hiding his annoyance, “Maybe we’ll cut him open first.”

Tim laughed again, “You won’t,” he said, “You’re going to fail.”

Business Suit almost dropped his carefully constructed persona of loving and caring pseudo-father figure, an ugly sneer making it’s way onto his face for a half second before he schooled his face into a mask of neutrality. Tim giggled, seeing right through him, seeing him for what he was.

“I’ll see you again soon Tim,” he said, signalling his thugs and turning away to leave.

“See you soon!” Tim sing-songed, “Maybe next time I’ll have better aim and rip out your carotid!”

The door out of the hallway slammed with Tim’s laughter following them out. He lay on the floor for a while, laughs wracking his body as tears spilled down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim's still hanging on. And the Fam finally finds out who's behind it all!


	15. Nectarines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long ass chapter, but it's worth it. I got stuck in a few places, but I managed to unstick myself pretty well I think.
> 
> [Commission me!](https://mishaberrywrites.tumblr.com/post/161363062015/misha-berrys-fanfic-commissions)

Saturday finally came rolling around. A storm was gathering overhead, huge, blue-black clouds that threatened lightning and thunder at any given moment. Wind howled in the distance, pushing the storm ever closer. There was a tension in the air, a sense of foreboding that swept over the valley. The residents of Houston watched the storm approach with trepidation and awe, knowing it would come down on their heads with the fury of a forgotten god. There was little fear, storms like this had come through before—some people were even sitting out on their porches, watching the lightning in the distance crack like a fireworks show—and more would come in the future. There was something different this time though, an undercurrent of purpose, like something important was going to happen tonight.

The ten or so guards came into town around six in the evening, all of them looking to party. Bruce and the others had decided that it was best to take them out while they were in town, just to be sure that they couldn't rejoin the others later when they went to the compound in the woods.

The downside to being out in the middle of nowhere—at least for Bruce and the others—was that there wasn’t anywhere to put the people guards that they took out. Houston BC, unlike its southern counterpart, did not have back alleys or dark corners to put thugs until the cops arrived to ferry them off to jail. The RCMP in Houston were unused to armed thugs, and more adept at putting locals in the drunk tank for the night and reporting stolen bicycles. Bruce had relented and called in a favor from Zatanna, who would magic away the thugs they managed to take out until they could be processed by the courts.

“You sure you don’t want more help on this?” Zatanna asked, teleporting the fourth thug away to a Justice League holding cell, “Everyone knows you bats have been going nuts trying to find Red Robin, and you know we’d all help in a heartbeat. Tim’s a good kid, we all like him.”

Bruce snuck around the side of the motel where he’d managed to jump the thug. They were all in regular civilian clothes for the time being, with body armor underneath just in case, so they didn't attract attention. As hard as it was for strangers to walk through town unnoticed, Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Black Bat, and Batgirl would be noticed in an instant, and they couldn’t risk someone getting word back to the compound before they could move.

“Thank you Zatanna, but we’ll handle this,” he said, “Atwater made this personal, so it stays personal. We’re keeping it in the family.”

Zatanna sighed and shook her head in exasperation, “You’d think after all this time you;d have figured out that we’re your family too, Bruce,” she said, “But I’ll stay out of it. I know you can get territorial.”

Bruce looked back at her, “Thank you, Zatanna,” he said. It was hard sometimes, to remember that he had friends.

Zatanna smiled, “You’re welcome. Anyway, let’s round up the rest of these assholes so you can go get your boys back.”

Dispatching of the ten thugs in town was relatively simple, but painstakingly tedious. These men were highly skilled, and even though they weren’t expecting a fight and most of them were well on their way to getting blitzed out drunk, they could put up a hell of a fight if they did this wrong. So, the best way to get them was to either lure them away one by one or wait until they separated themselves. It was more difficult than they expected, they seemed to have a buddy system thing going.

Between all of them, they finally managed to take all ten thugs out and transported away. Now they had the real fight on their hands; the compound was way out in  the mountains, with no one around for miles, and there was no telling what sort of weaponry they had stashed away. Bruce hated going in as blind as this, but he didn't want to leave Tim and Damian in Atwater’s hands for longer than he needed to.

The storm was overtop of the whole valley by now. The trees were swaying and cracking in the gales and the electricity and moisture could be tasted in the air. Barbara had remotely flown the Batwing out to them, so they wouldn't have to trek through miles of dense forest to get out to the compound. Finding a place to land in said miles of dense forest was a little tricky, but Bruce managed to find a spot.

“Everyone ready?” Batman asked, fixing his cowl over his face.

“Ready,” Nightwing said, stowing his escrima sticks.

Red Hood clicked a clip of rubber bullets into place and stowed a few more in his coat, “All good to go, boss.”

Black Bat said nothing, but there was intent in every line in her body. She was focussed and ready to complete her mission, no matter the cost.

Batgirl smacked her fist into her palm, “Let’s kick some kidnappers asses.”

Bruce stifled a smile, “Put your comms on, stay connected. We’re not sure what we’re walking into here.”

They were barely out of the plane when a huge crack of lightning struck down so close that they could feel the heat flash. A second later, there was the sound of a small explosion and a plume of fire rising out from the trees.

“Forest fire?” Batgirl asked, trying not to sound nervous.

“It’s coming from the compound. I think something might’ve been hit,” Nightwing said, “Maybe a building or something?”

“Good, we’ll use it as cover,” Batman said, glancing up at the dark sky. The first fat drops were beginning to rain down, and it wasn’t thirty seconds before the sky opened up and released its fury on the earth.

They stole their way through the brush towards the compound. They came to the fence; Batman laid a small disruptor on the fence and waited. Nothing.

“The power’s been cut,” he said.

“Must have been that explosion,” Red Hood said, “Must have hit a generator or something.”

“Lucky us,” Nightwing said, leaning down to start cutting a hole in the chain link. In a few seconds, they were through and sneaking across to a clearing some distance away from the fence.

They came into view of the first building. It was impossible to tell what it was from the outside. There were five buildings total, each connected to each other through long hallways that couldn’t be accessed through the outside unless you wanted to break a window. When they got closer, they could see that that wouldn’t be possible, as the windows were bulletproof.

“No lights on, but there’s movement inside,” Black Bat said, “Definitely a power outage.”

“The lightning strike must have crapped out their backup generator as well,” Batgirl said.

“Let’s find a way in,” Batman said, ducking low and making his way across to one of the larger buildings.

They managed to find a door eventually. It had a keypad and card access, but with the power gone, it was little more than a wall decoration. The alarms were down and any security personnel were in the dark as much as they were. They could hear the stomp of jackboots through the halls, trying futilely to get the power back on.

“Take out the guards, find Tim and Damian, and be careful,” Batman ordered. They split off in different directions, silent as the dark. Bruce would allow himself to feel some pride later, when it was all over.

Batman had a more specific mission than the others though. He was going to find Atwater and risk stepping just a little closer to that edge, and heaven help him if Tim or Damian had been hurt in any way.

The main mess hall was deserted, but there were a few kitchen workers in the kitchen, locking everything down to try and keep some of the food from spoiling. They went down without much of a fight, surrendering the moment they saw that they were under attack. Batman finished zip tieing them and crouched down next to the man who looked like he was in charge.

“Where’s Atwater?” Batman growled in his deepest and most threatening voice. It was a simple trick, but sometimes the simplest tricks worked the best.

The kitchen worker visibly shrank away from him, “I-if he’s here, he’ll b-be in building three, where the offices are. He’s got a little apartment thing set up there instead of in building two where everyone else sleeps,” he babbled, “P-please don’t kill us. It was only a job!”

Batman growled again, and couldn’t help the little thrill of pleasure he got from making the kitchen workers cower. He left them and went off to find building three.

The hallways were a little less simplistic than they looked from the outside, criss-crossing one another and making things into a maze. It was too deliberate to be just how the halls were connected, but rather intentional to confuse anyone who wasn’t used to moving through the compound.

Several minutes and three beaten thugs later, Batman found himself in a lab of some kind. A few lab techs were scurrying about in the dark, being yelled at by a dark man with a Quebecois accent. They didn’t notice Batman at first in the darkness, but they quickly began to notice when their co-workers began to disappear into the dark corners. He made quick work of them, they went down with the same amount of resistance as the kitchen workers. The man who had been yelling swore loudly in French and made for the hall. Batman hooked his legs with a grapple line and dragged him back, the man cursing loudly in French and Hindi the entire time.

Batman got him close enough to grab and pounced, gripping his white lab coat and leaning in, “What did you do to Tim and Damian?” he demanded.

The man spat at him and continued to swear in French/Hindi. Batman growled and grabbed one of his flailing hands and squeezed until he heard a crack, “There are twenty-seven bones in the human hand. That was at least three of them,” he growled, “What did you do to Tim and Damian?”

The man yelped as his fingers began to snap, “Tabarnak maadher chod*! Alright alright!” he shouted, “We were trying to brainwash him!”

Batman’s blood boiled, but he kept himself in check, “Brainwash them?”

“Atwater wanted the kid on his side, loyal to him, so he had me and my partner try and brainwash him. Drugs and mind games! Ow! You’re crushing my hand!” the man cried, trying to wiggle away.

Batman hadn’t realized he’d been tightening his grip with every word the other man spoke, “And Damian?” he asked, keeping the pressure on his hand steady.

The man whined, “Studied him. We were gonna dissect him, open him ups and get a better look at those enhancements,” he said.

Batman growled, sorely tempted to finish crushing this man’s hand at even the mention of killing Damian, “Where are they now?” he demanded.

“Nnf, cell block,” the man said, “Building five.”

Batman stared into his face, looking for a trace of lie. Finding none, he dropped his hand and tied him up with the rest, “Nightwing,” he said into the comm, “Tim and Damian are in building five. Can you get to them?”

“ _ On it _ ,” Nightwing said, “ _ Anything I should brace myself for _ ?”

Batman hesitated a fraction, “Tim might be brainwashed,” he explained, “I’m not sure how bad it is. Be careful.”

“ _ I’ll go with him _ ,” Red Hood said, the faint sound of bullets echoing through the comm, “ _ Just in case _ .”

“Alright. Report back when you find them,” Batman said, then turned his attention back to the lab technicians, “Atwater, where is he?”

“Holed up in his office probably.” The man was trying to cradle his broken hand close to him, though it was hard since he was zip tied to the other lab techs, “He probably knows you’re here by now.”

Batman stared down at the man, the doctor who had been attempting to brainwash and dissect his sons, and growled out, “Good.”

He turned and stalked away, disappearing into the shadows. He was close to finding Atwater, he could feel it.

Another journey through the twisting hallways later, he came upon another building, this one filled with what looked like administrative offices. Building three. Batman set his jaw and strode forward. It looked like others had been through here; Atwater must have called them in to protect him once he realized that something was going down.

“Black Bat, Batgirl, make your way to me, I think I have Atwater,” he said into the comm.

Both girls arrived at his side within minutes, tracking his GPS, “So what’s the plan?” Batgirl asked.

“It looks like the last of the thugs and Atwater are holed up here,” Batman said, “It looks like they might be barricaded up in one of these offices. We’ll try to draw them out, but they probably have guns, so be careful.”

Slowly, they moved forward, keeping their eyes and ears open for any sort of attack. Black Bat saw it a half second before they did and slammed into Batgirl’s side as shots rang out. One glanced off of Bruce’s shoulder, but his armor thankfully protected him. They ducked behind a bend in the hallway.

“Found ‘em,” Batgirl said.

“Did you get a good look at them?” Batman asked, rolling his shoulder. It would bruise, but that was it.

Black Bat crouched low and tried to get a better look, “Six guards, all with guns,” she said, “I don’t see the target.”

“He’s here,” Batman assured, “Hiding behind his men.”

Batgirl readied a smoke grenade, “Everyone ready?” They all nodded and she turned the corner and tossed.

The grenade started spitting smoke and they waited a few beats before heading into the cloud. For the next seven minutes, there was nothing but fists and kicks landing on flesh. If they were a little harsher than they needed to be, the only ones who had to know were the thugs.

They zip tied the thugs and made their way to the office they had been protecting. Batman signalled for the two girls to wait and slowly opened the door. A shot rang out and he dove inside, landing with a terrific crash on a mahogany desk and looming over the man behind it.

“Atwater,” he growled, lunging forward and grabbing the lapels of his suit. He slammed him against the wall, lifting him several inches off the ground. He pulled one fist back and landed a solid punch to his jaw, shattering at least four teeth and ruining that damnable mannequin smile

Atwater coughed, spitting out his teeth with a spray of blood, “Mr. Wayne,” he said, giving a grin, blood dripping down his chin, “Nice to see you again.”

Batman snarled and pressed him harder into the wall, his knuckles digging painfully into Atwater’s collarbones. There was a click behind him, then a thud and a yelp. Someone had hidden behind the door to try and get the drop on him, but Batgirl and Black Bat had taken him out before he could fire. Batman didn’t glance behind him, knowing that they would handle it just fine on their own.

“You took Tim. Why?” Batman growled, sorely tempted to forgo interrogation and just beat the man senseless.

Atwater glanced around, obviously trying to think of a way out of the situation. After a minute, he relaxed, knowing he’d been beaten, “Tim is the perfect combination of smarts and skills. He was going to be my instrument for a better world. I’ve met a lot of people, but I’ve never met someone like Tim. A brilliant mind like that is wasted as a subordinate to you. I wanted to unlock his potential, give him a whole new world to explore.”

Batman growled again, deciding not to get into how Tim already made the world a better place, “How did you find out our identities?” That was one of the things that had worried him the most. How had he figured it out?

Atwater grinned, “Surprised? You should be, I was when I found out. Not that Bruce Wayne was Batman, no, that made sense, but that the investigator I hired was able to do it. She was on the case for a very long time, nearly four years. It took her that amount of time to put it together, even with her edge.”

“Edge?” Batman prompted.

“Telepathic abilities,” Atwater explained, “She used her abilities to do her job. Reading the minds of the people close to you for leads, protecting herself from you prying too close, an hell, just plain detective work.” He let out a dramatic sigh, “It was a shame I had to kill her, she was good at her job. Plain looking, but good at her job.”

Batman growled and threw Atwater to the floor, “You’re a sociopath.”

Atwater grunted as he hit the floor, “Well, yes,” he admitted, “But a sociopath with connections and no need to announce my presence like a damn peacock. I’m perfectly happy with subtleties.”

“Yeah well, your days of subtlety are over now,” Batgirl said, “You’re going to jail for a long damn time.”

“Am I?” Atwater grinned, “If I go to jail, what’s going to keep me from telling anyone and everyone what Bruce Wayne keeps in the basement?” He stood up, leaning against the desk, “Hell, nearly everyone at this compound knows the big secret. Any one of them could blab it all over.”

Batman bristled; this wasn't the first time someone had threatened his identity, and it most certainly wouldn't be the last, but he hated it when it happened. He had failsafes in place, new identities ready to go for all of them should they ever need them, but he hated the idea of using them.

“You think we don’t have telepaths on our side?” he said, “I could call any one of them right now and they would be here in a moment to take that information right out of your head.” It was something he hated to consider, it reminded him too much of what happened with Doctor Light.

Atwater’s face twitched, “Yes, I suppose you could do that.”

Batman noticed a second too late that Atwater was fingering his sleeve oddly. He took a step forward and reached out, but Atwater was a fraction of a second faster. There was a flash of light and the sound of shattering glass. Batman pulled his cape up to protect him from any flying glass, but as the spots faded from his eyes, he realized that the glass window to his left had exploded outward. Atwater was gone, having used the flash to escape out of the window that had blown. Batman rushed to the window, making it just in time to see Atwater disappear into the trees and storm.

Growling, Batman made to follow him when the other man started screaming, “The trigger! He’s going to kill us all! He’ll kill us!”

No sooner than he’d started screaming, he cut off with a wet gurgle. There was a hissing noise, then a hole opened up in the man’s carotid artery and began spurting blood everywhere. Batgirl dove forward and got him lying down, putting pressure on the wound to try and slow the bleeding.

Batman rushed back into the room and knelt down by the man; the hole kept getting bigger, and he could hear the men in the hall choking and dying as they bled out as well, “What is this?” he asked. From the way he’d reacted, this man knew what this was.

“N-nanites,” the man gasped. He had almost white hair and an impressive moustache, “Similar t-tech to what W-Waller uses for her Suicide Sq-Squad. So n-none of us would t-talk.”

The hole in the man’s throat had completely severed the artery and was starting to eat through his trachea. Batman knew there was nothing any of them could do to save this man, or anyone else in the compound. He stood, “Stay here, try and help, I’m going after Atwater.”

Batman crossed the room and vaulted out of the window into the storm. He only went a few feet before he realized it was useless. The storm was too violent for him to see anything, and any trail would have been washed away as soon as it formed. He persisted for a minute, hoping to get lucky, but when he hit fence, he stopped.

“ _ Batman, it’s Nightwing _ ,” his comm crackled to life in his ear, “ _ What the heck was that _ ?”

Batman turned from the fence and started walking back to the compound. The rain felt different from the usual Gotham storms; it felt cleaner somehow, violent, but not hateful. Cleansing, “What was what?” he asked.

“ _ We were just fighting some guys, and their fucking throats just exploded _ ,” Red Hood said, “ _ There’s blood everywhere _ .”

“Atwater,” Batman said, “He had some kind of kill switch. He didn't want any of them to talk about his operations.”

“ _ Shit _ ,” Red Hood swore, “ _ Everyone in the compound _ ?”

The implication of that was clear; had Tim and Damian been injected with nanites? Batman forced his heart not to speed up with the anxiety of contemplating that, “Have you found the cell block?”

“ _ We’re almost there _ ,” Nightwing said, “ _ We had to find a different way around, there was a tree that fell and collapsed one of the hallways _ ,” he said, “ _ We’re entering the cell block now _ .”

Batman couldn’t help but hold his breath as he waited for the news. Tim had been here for months, being drugged and brainwashed. What sort of state was he in? How was Damian? Had they already dissected him? Experimented on him? Was he even in the same compound, or was he at a different location? All of these thoughts rushed through his head as he waited for the news.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Nightwing swore, and Batman’s heart stuttered. Nightwing didn’t just swear like that.

“What is it?” he demanded, fearing the worst.

“ _ The cells are empty _ ,” Nightwing said, “ _ They’re not here _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops.
> 
> *"Tabarnak maadher chod!" is actually two different languages, Quebecois French and Hindi. Specifically it's two different swears, and basically translates to, "Fucking mother fucker!"


	16. Mulberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty happy with this one. Also this is the most commented on and the most kudosed fic on my account. You guys are so awesome!

When Damian awoke, he wasn’t exactly sure what woke him. He didn't feel that rush of jolting awake from a dream, nor did he remember a dream of any kind, so it couldn’t be that. He didn’t sense any movement near him, or any eyes watching him, so that wasn’t it either. Damian slowly sat up and tried to gauge his surroundings. He was still in his cell, and it was pitch dark, just like every night. He couldn’t see anything except for the blinking lights of the security cameras.

Except he couldn't see the lights.

Damian blinked and did a pinch check to make sure he was truly awake. He was, and the cameras were off. Now that he thought about it, there was something different about his surroundings; he couldn’t hear the faint electrical buzz that was constantly hovering at the edges of his perception. It was probably what woke him, the absence of the faint sound triggering a response in him. Since coming here, he was on constant danger alert.

Slowly getting off his cot, Damian paced around the room, keeping his steps measured so he didn't run into anything. There was nothing to see, but his ears still worked fine. He tried to listen for anything that might help him.

A faint howl got his attention. He followed the noise to the corner of the room, to the vent. It sounded like wind, a strong one. A storm of some kind? Maybe it had knocked out the power and fried the backup generator. Maybe Damian could use it to his advantage.

Moving toward the glass door, Damian tried not to get too hopeful. The locks were obviously electronic, but that didn’t mean that they would pop open without power. They might, but Damian didn’t like relying on luck.

Reaching the glass, Damian went to where the lock disengaged. Still no sound of an electrical current. There was a handle on the outside of the door to slide it, but nothing on the inside. Damian pressed his palms to the glass and tried to shove it. His hand slid across the glass with a screech. Growling, Damian tried to get his fingernails into the seam where the glass met the wall. Nothing, it was too tight. Damian took a step back and thought for a moment. The slot, if he could get that open, he might be able to use it to open the door.

Kneeling down, Damian felt for the slot. Finding it, he tried once again to slide the glass. It slid open easily, and Damian’s heart lept into his throat.

Bracing his feet against the wall and his hands into the slot, Damian pushed with all his might. The heavy glass door slid about five inches. He readjusted himself and tried again, gaining another several more inches.

When Damian figured he’d opened it enough, he got up and tried to squeeze through the opening. It was a tight fit, but after some struggling and sucking it in, he managed to get through.

Damian was free.

Allowing himself a moment of elation, Damian crossed the short hallway to free Tim. He misjudged the distance and smacked into the glass with a bang, but found the handle easily and pulled. It was just as heavy, but it was a lot easier to open with the handle.

“Tim,” Damian called softly, trying to see in the pitch black where Tim was, “Tim wake up. We’re free.”

There was movement a few feet in front of him, so Damian cautiously approached. Tim had been increasingly withdrawn for the last few days, and it was starting to worry him. He hoped that he could at least convince Tim enough to move, he didn’t know how long the power would be out, or what might happen if it came on while they were still inside.

Damian reached Tim, managing not to trip over him. He knelt down and shook his shoulder gently, “Tim, wake up, we have to go.”

Tim stirred, groaning as he woke up, “Damian? Is that you?”

“Yes,” Damian said, “Come on, we have to go. The power’s out and the doors are open. We have to go.”

Slowly, Tim seemed to comprehend that Damian was in his cell with him, and what he was saying, “Let’s go,” he said, leaping up. He staggered, his body not cooperating with him.

Damian shoved himself under Tim’s arm, trying not to be alarmed by how emaciated he was. Damian could feel every one of Tim’s ribs pressing against his side, and the arm that laid across his shoulders felt like it was barely there, skin and bone. Tim leaned on him gratefully, but Damian hardly felt it, he was so light.

“Let’s move quickly, we don't know how long we have,” Tim said, squeezing Damian’s shoulder tightly.

Damian nodded, even though he couldn't see it and walked him out of the cell. They got out into the hallway and turned towards the door. It was hard to measure the distances, but Damian managed to not run headlong into it this time. Hoping their good luck held out, Damian tried the handle; it clicked and swung open without so much an creak to announce them, much less an alarm.

It opened into a long hallway that split off in several directions up ahead. There were windows all along it, letting light flood in. Outside, a storm raged, rain pouring down and the wind tearing at the forest they were apparently in. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, oddly loud after having been muffled by the cell bock.

“Let’s find a way out of here,” Tim said, “There must be a door somewhere.” He stopped leaning so much on Damian, his strength returning as he woke up more, his heart pumping and improving his circulation.

“Hopefully we don't encounter any guards,” Damian said. He didn't want to have to fight his way out, especially since Tim was in no condition to fight.

Tim didn’t say anything for a long moment, “Damian, if you can escape, do it, even if you have to leave me behind,” he ordered, not looking at him.

Damian paused for a minute, “Alright,” he lied. He was  _ not _ going to leave Tim again, no matter what.

Tim must have known he was lying, he was too smart not to, but he said nothing, either too tired to argue or too focused on getting them out of wherever they were. They cautiously made their way through the winding hallways, hoping that they might find something that would lead them out. They stayed close to one another, not wanting to be separated. All Tim wanted to do was fall into Damian, soak up his warmth and his presence. He hadn’t had kind human contact in so long, it was already a relief to just be close to Damian, even though he knew Damian hated physical contact. Once they escaped, once they were safe, Tim would find Conner, or Dick, or hell, even Bruce would probably hold him for hours if he asked. But first, they needed to leave this nightmare and escape to freedom.

Steps echoed down the hall ahead of them. Glancing at each other, they ducked behind a bend in the hallway and prayed that whoever was coming, they would be easy to take down.

“—blew the shit out of the main generator and fried both back ups. We’re completely without power.” A man’s voice, a guard maybe? Damian wished he were better at remembering voices and putting them to faces. Steph was good at that.

“So we’re completely fucked,” another voice said, also male, “So the boss in sending us to keep an eye on the prisoners?”

“Yeah, the locks are all electronic, right? He’s worried that they might have disengaged when the power blew out,” the first voice said, “We should be able to keep two kids from getting out.”

_ Think again, asshole _ , Tim thought. He signalled to Damian to wait until the guards were in position. He couldn’t physically fight, but he wasn’t going to sit by helplessly.

They waited for the guards to come to the corner. As they passed, Damian lept from the shadows, using Tim’s shoulder as a springboard and slamming his heel into one of the guards jaw. It shattered with a crack and the guard fell with a yelp. The other guard turned his attention to Damian, missing Tim completely. His mistake, as Tim was able to yank the man’s taser from his holster and jam it into his side, rendering him unconscious in a matter of seconds. The other guard was stunned by his broken jaw, leaving Damian enough of an opening to slam his fist into his solar plexus. The guard grunted painfully, but the body armor he was wearing gave enough cushioning that he didn't go down. He lept back a few steps and drew his gun, aiming at Damian’s head.

“Tha’s enough,” he slurred, blood dribbling down his chin, “Go ba’ ta yer cells ‘r I’ll shoo’ ya.”

Tim tensed, trying to think of a way out of this. They’d need to take care of the gun, first of all, but that would be simple. The guard could only take aim at one of them at a time, and he’d decided that Damian was the bigger threat. Tim could take advantage of that and his shattered jaw and distract him while Damian struck low. He and Damian shared a look and braced themselves. Tim took a deep breath and leapt, striking out with the taser as a blunt instrument. The guard’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake and tried to reorient himself. He fired off a single shot before the taser slammed into his already broken jaw. Damian ducked low and slammed his shoulder into the guard’s gut at the same time as shoving his knee into his crotch. The guard fell over unconscious, landing with a loud thud.

Tim nearly fell with him, pain rippling through his side. He sucked in a breath and leaned against the wall, trying to pinpoint the source of the pain. He put and hand to his ribs and cursed when he felt something hot and wet.

“Tim!” Damian cried, rushing over, “You’re injured.”

“Bullet grazed me,” Tim said, “It doesn’t feel like it got my lung, but I think it broke a rib or two.”

“We should find the lab, get you some first aid,” Damian said, glaring at the unconscious guard.

“No, there’s not enough time. We need to leave,” Tim said, “We’ll worry about it later.”

Damian opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of boots at the other end of the hall made him stop. From the sound of it, at least five guards were on their way, way too many for them to take out. Damian felt a sick sense of deja vu, with Tim injured and unable to fight an enemy that outnumbered them greatly.

“We can’t outrun them,” Damian growled, “We’re going to be caught.”

“You can outrun them,” Tim said, “I’ll stay behind as a distraction.”

“Absolutely not,” Damian hissed, “I won’t be responsible for your capture again.”

“You think I want to be responsible for yours?” Tim said, glaring, “They’re going to kill you, but they want me alive. I’ll be fine, just go.” Tim had come to terms with being abandoned. Everyone he cared about did it at some point in his life.

“No,” Damian said firmly, “I will not abandon you. You can tell me to go, hate me for staying, but I refuse to leave you in their hands.”

Tim blinked, surprised by Damian’s outburst. He didn’t have time to dwell on it as the guards rounded the corner. They shouted something and began to charge forward, intent on putting them back in their cells. Damian grabbed hold of Tim’s hand and ran in the other direction, hoping that the guards didn’t draw their weapons. They didn’t, but they also caught up to them quickly, unencumbered by injury or weeks of self inflicted starvation.

“Gotcha!” one of the guards said, grabbing hold of Tim’s arm and yanking him back out of Damian’s grip. The other guards were several feet behind, obviously not as fast as this guy.

“No!” Damian shouted, bare feet skidding on the floor as he changed direction to try and get the thug off of Tim. Tim struggled, but he couldn't wiggle free.

Suddenly, there was a bright white flash and a tremendous crack of thunder, causing everyone to jump. A shadow fell over the hall for a moment, then a huge tree fell through the hall. The glass buckled and exploded into thousands of pieces and the cement crumbled. The roof fell in, and a branch struck the head of the thug that had a grip on Tim, knocking them both to the ground.

“Tim!” Damian shouted, rushing forward, heedless of the way the roof was still crumbling around him. He tried to shift the thug away to see if Tim was alright.

Tim groaned, “I’m fine,” he gasped through the pain, “Big guy here took the hit and landed on me.” With Damian’s help, he managed to pull himself out from under the thug. He looked back at the giant tree that had fallen through the hallway. A pine tree, “Come on,” he said, heading into the branches.

They climbed through the tree, down the trunk and out into the rain. The storm raged around them, wiping at their hair and soaking them in a matter of seconds.

“Come on!” Tim shouted to be heard over the wind. Damian reached for his hand again and they took off into the forest, leaving the building and all it’s misery behind them.

They’d gone maybe fifty yards into the thick forest when they nearly ran into a chain link fence. There was barbed wire at the top, so there was no hope of climbing it. Damian looked around for some sort of exit, but Tim was already kneeling down to dig under it. Damian joined him, digging his hands into the softened earth that was basically mud at this point. He grabbed a flat-ish rock to help soften it further and shovel away the muddy slop. Tim did the same, and in a few minutes, they had a hole big enough for them to wiggle through.

“You first,” Damian said, tone denying argument.

Tim might have rolled his eyes if he could spare the energy. He got down onto his belly and slid under the fence, trying to keep his chin up and out of the mud. Rainwater had already collected at the bottom of the hole and soaked his front. The end of his shift caught in the fence, but he pulled through, Damian quickly following.

Both of them covered in mud and drenched from the rain, they took a moment to look back through the trees. The sky lit up for a moment with more lightning, briefly illuminating the vague shape of the building on the other side of the fence. Tim took a deep breath, trying not to let the relief of being free overwhelm him just yet. He needed the last dregs of adrenaline to get him further away.

“Let’s go,” Damian said, grabbing Tim’s hand again and leading him away, “We need to get out of this storm.”

Tim said nothing and followed Damian, concentrating all his energy into moving. If he collapsed now, they’d be caught for sure.

They walked quickly, careful of where they put their bare feet, clinging to each other’s hands so they didn't get separated. They had no idea where they were, and they couldn't orient themselves with the storm covering the stars. They just had to pick a direction and keep going, looking around for anything that might give them shelter.

After maybe an hour of walking, they came upon a sheer wall of rock. In it was a small cave, somewhat protected from the rain. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best they were going to get in this storm. They wedged themselves into it, discovering that it was more of a crevice than a cave, and they had to press against each other to both fit.

“Here, let’s do this instead,” Tim said after a few minutes of struggling to get them both completely out of the rain. He gently manipulated Damian to turn around and lean so they were pressed back-to-chest.

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” Damian asked, “Your injury.”

“It’s fine,” Tim said, wrapping his arms around Damian’s middle and squeezing, “I can handle it. This is the only way for us both to fit.”

Damian grumbled, but eventually relaxed, “Get some sleep,” he ordered, “I’ll keep watch.”

Tim hummed, already losing consciousness. The last few hours of adrenaline and exhaustion finally caught up with him and he passed out. This time, he welcomed the blackness that swallowed him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we find out what happened with Tim and Damian! It's a bit of a catch 22 though, isn't it? They escaped, but if they stayed, they would have been rescued.


	17. Marionberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this one got done fast. I'm surprised with myself.

Damian woke to the sound of birds chirping. Groaning, he cracked his eye open and then immediately clamped them shut from the bright light. He tried again, slower this time, letting his eyes adjust to the bright sunshine. Stiffly, he crawled out of the cave, careful not to wake Tim, who was still asleep.

If the storm had done a number on the forest last night, it was hard to tell. The ground was still wet, but the forest was still standing tall, and the birds were singing as if last night had only been a drizzle. Damian took a few deep breaths of the clean, fresh air and took stock. He was sore and stiff from sleeping huddled up like he had, but uninjured. He was hungry and thirsty, but not enough to be distracting. Barring any sort of injury, he could probably survive another week days out in the forest if he had to.

Tim on the other hand, wasn’t doing so well. Up close, he was even worse than Damian had thought, or last night had taken a huge toll on him. Tim was pale and sallow, his gaunt face sweaty and his breathing a little laboured. Damian felt his forehead, biting his lip at how hot he was. A fever, from the injury? From being out in the elements? Either way, it could be fatal if left alone.

First things first, Damian had to find some food. He didn't really know what area they were in, whether it was Europe or North America, but there would be something either way. Water wouldn't be hard to find with all the rain, so that could come later.

Damian wandered through the woods, keeping the cliff face in his sights at all times and keeping his ears open for any noises that might be hostile. All he heard was birds.

A flurry of activity made him look up; several birds were arguing in a bush, chirping and chasing each other. Robins, Damian realized when he caught sight of the bright red breasts. They were fighting over some berries growing in the bush, though they hardly needed to, there were so many.

_ If it’s good for robins, it might be good for Robins _ , Damian thought to himself. He went to the bush, pulling the branches down to inspect the berries. They were a dark blue-purple colour, with some of them red and unripe. Damian plucked one off the bush and rolled it around with his fingers, trying to determine if he could eat it or not. Letting out a sigh, he popped it in his mouth, prepared to spit it out if it tasted off at all. He was pleasantly surprised when it was delicious.

After waiting a few minutes to see if his stomach reacted badly to the berry, he began picking as many berries as he could, lifting the end of his shift to create a pocket to carry them. He ate a few as he went, but he wanted to get back to Tim as soon as he could.

After picking a fair amount, he headed back to the cave. Tim was starting to stir, looking around blearily, like he couldn’t place where he was. He caught sight of Damian and tensed for a moment, then relaxed, recognition in his eyes and relief on his face.

“We escaped,” Tim said as Damian reached him.

“We did,” Damian said, “I found some berries. I don't think they’re poisonous, they taste very good.”

“No thank you,” Tim said, “I’m—” he stopped, seeming to realize something, “Nevermind, give some here.”

Damian dumped a few in his outstretched hands. Tim shoved a few in his mouth and chewed, humming softly at the taste, “These are very good,” he said. Damian put more on his lap for him to eat.

“We shouldn’t stay here,” Damian said, eating his own berries, “It’s too open. We should see if we can find a bigger cave.”

“No, we should find a road,” Tim said, “Despite the risks of getting caught by those guys, we won’t survive out here for very long. We need to find people.” He looked up at the cliff face, “It looks like we can get to the top of this if we go around it in that direction,” he gestured to where the cliff dipped down into the forest, “Maybe we’ll be able to see something from the top.”

“I could scale the cliff,” Damian said, “It’ll be easy for me.”

“Are you sure? It’s pretty high,” Tim said, looking a bit worried, “Some rocks might be loose.”

“I’ll be careful,” Damian said, standing up. He gave the last of his berries to Tim and looked for a good place to start climbing.

He found a good foothold a little distance away and started up. It was hard with bare feet, but he had long ago developed thick callouses on his feet and hands from his training. The cliff was maybe twenty or thirty feet high, and it only took Damian a few minutes to scale it completely. He climbed over the edge and turned to look over the area. They were in a valley that was mostly made up of vast forest. Damian could see a river winding away in the distance, towards a little town even further away. He tried to look for a road, but the only one he could see was on the other side of the river.

Damian climbed back down, “There’s a road, but it’s on the other side of a river,” he told Tim, “I’m not sure how we’d cross.”

Tim slowly got up, using the rocks around him as support, “It’s our best bet,” he said, “How far?”

“About twenty miles that way,” Damian said, pointing off into the forest, “Do you think you can travel that distance?” he asked, watching Tim wobble on his feet.

“Probably not, but I’m going to anyway,” Tim said, gritting his teeth against the dizzyness, “We can’t stay here.”

Damian set his jaw, wishing he could do something, “We’ll take breaks,” he said, “And if it gets to be too much, I’ll carry you.”

Tim looked at him, then smiled, “Alright,” he said, “Let’s go.”

They walked off into the forest. They hadn’t really gotten a good look at their surroundings last night, but now they had little to do but take in the forest around them, “We’re in Canada I think,” Tim said, looking around.

“You think so?” Damian asked.

Tim nodded, “These are lodgepole pines. They grow in Western North America, and since we’re in a place that has a legal drinking age of eighteen, that rules out the US, leaving Canada as our only option. From the mountains and valleys we’re in, I’d guess we’re in British Columbia.”

Damian eyed the tall trees around them, “How do you know what kind of trees these are?”

Tim shrugged, “I try to memorize common flora and fauna from around the world for this exact reason. It’s not that hard.”

Damian knew a thousand different ways to kill a man, and ten thousand more ways to incapacitate someone. He knew war strategy and battle tactics, and every martial art known to man. He could paint and play several different instruments, but he’d never considered knowing plant life outside of what could be used as poison, medicine, or food to be useful information. Now Tim was showing him yet again that he had a lot to learn.

“That’s smart,” Damian said, trying not to sound bitter, “I wish I’d thought of it.”

Tim didn't say anything for a moment, “I could teach you, if you like,” he said, “It’s just memorization, really.”

Damian looked back at him, “You would teach me?” he asked.

Tim smiled, “Sure, I’ve always wanted to teach you something.”

“Really?” Damian asked, surprised, “Teach me what?”

Tim shrugged, “Anything really. When you first arrived, I was really eager to teach you how to be the next Robin.”

Now  _ that _ surprised Damian, “I thought you  _ hated _ that I was Robin,” he said incredulously.

Tim was quiet a moment, “I did, for a bit, and I still hate how it happened. But when I first heard about you, I was excited. I knew I wasn't going to be Robin forever, and I thought I’d take you in as a kind of protogé, like Dick did with me when I first started. I . . . thought it would have been nice to have a little brother.”

Damian felt a horrible wave of guilt. When he’d first arrived, he’d had it drilled into his head that Timothy Jackson Drake was his Enemy, and that he had to remove him in order to take his place as the rightful heir. As such, he’d attacked, almost killing the boy that should have been his older brother and destroying any kind relationship they might have had in the process.

“I’m sorry,” Damian said softly, “I’m a terrible brother.”

Tim didn't say anything for a long time, so long that Damian figured that the conversation was over. Then Tim laid an arm around his shoulders.

“See those little cones on the end of the branch right there?” He pointed to the yellow-orange cluster of tiny cones on the trees around them, “That’s the easiest way to tell a lodgepole pine from other pines.”

Damian sucked in a breath and nodded, “Right,” he said, “What about those?” he asked, pointing out a batch of trees that were slightly different.

“White spruce I think,” Tim said, “They’re also pretty common to the interior of British Columbia. They’ve got shorter needles that have four sides to them.”

They walked like that for a while, Tim pointing out the different trees and how to tell them from the rest of the flora around them. Whenever they spotted an animal, he tried to identify it as well.

After a few hours of walking (with a lot of breaks for Tim to rest), they finally came upon the river. The evidence of last night’s storm was apparent, the river was swollen and gushing, too fast for them to cross.

“Let’s see if we can’t find a shallower part of the river,” Tim said, sitting down despite his words. He was breathing quite hard and drenched with sweat. He needed to get help, and soon.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Damian said, looking up and down the river, “Stay here and stay hidden.” He started walking up river, in the direction he saw the town in. Hopefully there was a felled tree or a calmer patch of river they could get across.

Maybe fifteen minutes up the way, Damian found what he was looking for. A huge tree had fallen across the river, creating a kind of bridge. It looked stable enough, so he made his way back to Tim.

In the slightly less than half an hour that Damian had been gone, Tim had fallen asleep. He was even paler now, and breathing hard even in sleep. His fever was getting worse, and Damian had to decide on whether or not to let him sleep or wake him so they could keep moving. It was well past noon now, and the sun would start sinking into evening soon. They only had many another four hours of light.

“Tim,” Damian said, shaking his brother’s shoulder, “I found us a way across, but you have to wake up.”

Tim groaned, but otherwise showed no signs of waking. Damian growled and resisted the urge to slap him awake. Tim did not need any more physical violence done to him.

Making a decision, Damian carefully maneuvered Tim onto his back and lifted him. He secured his arms around his neck as best he could and grabbed his thighs tightly, and carried him up to where the tree was. As much as Damian hated to see Tim so thin and starved, it worked in his favor now, as he was easier to carry. He probably weighed as much as Damian did, which was worrying for his health, seeing as he was nearly a foot taller than Damian.

Damian didn’t have time to worry about that now. Slowly, carefully, he stepped onto the tree and walked them across. It was a little slippery, and Damian nearly lost his footing twice, but eventually he got them across the river. Once they were safely across, Damian stopped to rest. He tried to get Tim to drink a little water, but he didn't want to give him too much of possibly contaminated river water.

He might have let them sleep next to the river for the night if he hadn’t heard a splash. Damian looked up and nearly had a heart attack when he saw eyes watching him from across the river. A large grey-brown cat watching them curiously. A cougar, Damian determined, even though he was a little terrified. It tipped its head to the river and began to drink, and Damian relaxed; it wasn't trying to hunt them. At the same time, that could change at any moment, so Damian stood up and tried to make himself look as big as he could. The cougar watched him, but when Damian let out the loudest scream he could manage, it startled and dove back into the forest.

Tim jolted awake, “Wassat?” he asked, looking around, “What happened? Are we being attacked?”

Damian coughed to clear his throat, “No, there was a cougar.”

“A cougar?” Tim sounded no less worried, “We should get moving. I don't want to be cat food.” He stood up with great difficulty and noticed that they were on the other side of the river, “How did we get across?”

“I carried you,” Damian said, “Your fever is getting worse.”

Tim groaned, “Yeah, it really is,” he said, “Let’s see if we can make it to the road.”

This time, Tim had barely made it half a mile before he had to stop, “I can't go any farther,” he panted, “I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

Damian knelt in front of Tim without hesitation, “I'll carry you,” he said.

Tim seemed to deliberate for a minute, “If it gets to be too much, stop. It won't do us any good if we’re both exhausted.” He gingerly situated himself on Damian’s back, careful of where he put his limbs.

Damian nodded and hoisted Tim onto his back. His enhanced body was able to take the strain much better than any other boy his age would, but he didn't know how long he could keep it up. He just hoped they reached the road quickly.

Tim drifted back into unconsciousness fairly quickly, rocked to sleep by Damian’s movements and his own body just not having any energy left. Damian was surprised that he'd held out as long as he had, by sheer force of willpower it seemed at times. But that had only carried him so far, and now he had nothing left to use for energy.

Damian kept up a steady pace, though not as fast as he could probably go, to conserve his strength. It was obvious that they weren't being followed at all, but he wanted to get as far away as he possibly could. Tim continued to burn up, now shivering and murmuring in his sleep. If he didn't get medical attention soon, he might die.

Stumbling onto the road was honestly a surprise to Damian. He’d been so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that he hadn't noticed how far they had gone. The sun was nearly gone, sunk behind the mountains and casting the sky in an array of pinks and oranges. Damian’s feet were aching, along with the rest of his body, he was only just noticing. With a groan, he collapsed on the side of the road, ready to pass out himself. Tim landed beside him without so much as a twitch, having fallen into a kind of fever coma. Damian propped himself up into a semi-sitting position and pulled Tim close, letting his head rest against his chest.

Now there was nothing to do but wait for help to arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some brotherly bonding that I had way too much fun writing. But their not out of the woods yet! (zing)


	18. Currants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had this finished a day ago, but I didn't like it and sat on it for a while, hoping I would like it eventually. Then I had a great idea and rewrote the ending of the chapter. I'm much happier with it now.

After a bit of investigation, it was determined that Tim and Damian had escaped on their own, instead of being taken somewhere by someone else. The doors to two cells—the two that looked like they’d been lived in—had been pushed open only partway, the electronic locks shorted out from the power outage. There were three downed guards that none of them remembered seeing, one of whom was missing a taser. The taser in question was found near the third guard, who had been pinned under the tree that collapsed the hallway. The rain had washed away any footprints or other trails, but they found a fresh hole dug under the fence not far away. It was filled with rainwater, but a scrap of fabric let them know that Tim and Damian had come this way.

“They escaped,” Dick said, “Thank God.”

“Yeah, but now they could be anywhere,” Jason said, “Lost out in the forest, eaten by giant fucking bears.”

Cass laid her hand on Bruce’s arm, “What now?” she prompted.

Bruce stared out into the forest in the direction he guessed Tim and Damian had gone. They probably would have headed straight out from the compound, putting as much distance as possible between them and it. He wanted to follow them, but there was still the mess at the compound that they needed to deal with.

“Call the Justice League. We need someone to help explain this,” he said.

The Justice League was more than happy to help, and it was barely a few minutes before several of them descended on the scene, including the big blue boys out himself.

“Did you find them?” Superman asked, almost before he’d touched down.

“Not yet,” Bruce answered. He and the others had changed into their civilian disguises for when the police arrived, “But we’ll find them.”

“We’ll help search if we can, it’s a pretty big area,” Superman said, “I think Superboy and the Titans would have come too, but there's something happening in Chicago that they needed to deal with.”

One of the downsides to small towns, depending on what side of the law you were on, was the limited presence of the police. The RCMP of Houston were more adept at finding stolen bicycles and confiscating weed from teenagers than they were at dealing with anything like this, but to their credit, they were trying.

“So let me get this straight,” officer Johnstone said, rubbing his temples, “You and your partners were investigating a human trafficking ring out here for a private organization, and when you confronted them about it, they all died because their leader fella injected their necks with nanites that made them bleed out so they wouldn't talk. Am I understanding this correctly?”

“Yes,” Bruce said. He was keeping up the facade of being an investigator to allay suspicion of Batman’s involvement, though it would complicate the official reports somewhat.

“Right,” officer Johnstone said, “And the capes?”

Bruce glanced to where Martian Manhunter was helping lay one of the bodies out in neat rows for inspection, “They owed me a favour.”

Officer Johnstone looked like he was very close to picking a tree to smash his head against, “Of course they did,” he said, “I’m going to make some calls. We’re very unequipped to handle this mess.”

“I’ll help in any way I can, but you should know that there are two children missing in the woods,” Bruce explained, “We have evidence that they escaped.”

“Two kids lost in the woods?” Officer Johnstone looked alarmed, “Why the hell didn't you say so? That takes priority over whatever the fuck this is.”

Bruce blinked, a little surprised by the strong reaction, “Sorry, I guess I'm used to doing things differently.”

“I'll bet,” the officer pulled out a notepad, “You got a description of these kids?”

Apparently, aside from being a glorified lost and found, the Houston RCMP were quite good at rounding up search parties. Within an hour, a message had been sent out on the local radio station looking for volunteers, as well as calls made to known good samaritans and the volunteer fire department. Soon, at least forty people were gathered and ready to comb through the woods until the two little lost boys were found.

“They don't even know Tim and Damian,” Cass said, watching them organize, “They’re good people.”

Bruce hummed, “It’s very kind of them,” he said.

“Bru—ah, Ben,” Superman floated over, “That thing in Chicago looks like it’s also in Vancouver, Metropolis, and about five other cities, and needs some heavy hitters to deal with it.” He looked very conflicted about even asking this.

“Go, we’ll keep things running here,” Bruce said.

Wonder Woman came over and laid a hand on his shoulder, “We’ll return as soon as we can. You know we would never abandon those boys unless it was life or death.”

Bruce almost managed a smile, “I know, thank you Dianna.”

“A few of us are staying behind to help, since there's still a lot to deal with here, Superman said, then he grinned a bit wryly, “Green Lantern volunteered.”

“Hrn.” Bruce didn't roll his eyes, but it was a near thing.

“We’ll be back when we can,” Superman promised, already taking flight, “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Bruce said softly, knowing Clark would hear it. They were going to need it.

* * *

 

As the sun set, Damian struggled to stay awake. They were on a road now, but that didn't mean they were safe. That cougar could still be prowling around, and their captors could be on their trail. Tim was shivering so hard he was practically convulsing, and Damian was sure he had some kind of infection, his condition and his already compromised immune system doing little to fight it off.

Night fell over the valley and Damian slapped his cheeks to wake himself up. He pulled Tim closer and tried to keep his ears open for the sound of anything approaching. The one upside to night was the sheer amount of stars he could see in the sky. This far from any sort of city, the stars were bright and plentiful, littering the sky like fireflies. Damian kept himself awake trying to count them.

A distant rumble brought Damian back to earth. A vehicle was coming up the road, rattling against the dirt. Damian tensed, gripping Tim tightly. He could see the headlights approaching and hoped that it was friend, not foe, who was coming.

A large truck rounded the corner, blinding Damian temporarily with it’s headlights. It was a huge truck, ancient and caked with mud. It screeched to a halt a few feet from them, and someone got out of the drivers side.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” someone called. A man’s voice, but not one Damian recognized, so hopefully not from the compound.

“My brother is sick!” Damian called, his voice scratchy a parched, “Please, help us!”

As much as he hated to play the helpless child, it came in handy in situations like this. The man approached at a quick step, not threatened at all by two small kids, “Jesus fucking Christ,” he swore, getting a good look at them, “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Please, he needs a hospital,” Damian said, not wanting to answer any questions right now.

The man knelt down to get a better look. He was Native of some kind, dark hair, skin, and eyes, in his forties, and a slight potbelly, “Fuck, okay,” he said, “Can you stand up? I’m going to carry your brother.”

Damian nodded and let Tim go enough for the man to scoop him up in his arms. He slowly got to his feet and followed the man back to his truck, climbing into the back with Tim. The man shut the door behind them and got back into the driver’s seat.

“How did you guys get out here without any shoes?” the man asked, “You weren't out in that storm, were you?”

“Sir, I really want to get my brother to the hospital,” Damian fought to keep his voice sounding childish and helpless. He was not the best actor in the family by far.

The man man a noise in his chest and started driving, putting the massive tank of a truck into gear and jerking forward hand enough to jostle Damian. He drovve in the middle of the night through a winding backroad as though it were a straight well lit highway.

“The clinic’s closed for the night,” he said, “So I’m taking you to Gran’s. She’ll look after you guys.”

“He needs a hospital,” Damian said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of his voice this time.

“There isn't a hospital around these parts for hours kid,” the man explained, “You’ll just have to make do.”

Damian grumbled and sat back down, hoping for Tim’s sake that this Gran was at least partially competent.

The man was quiet for a while, but Damian could feel the tension rolling off him, “Hey kid, you have anything to do with that human trafficking thing?”

“Human trafficking?” Damian asked, curious.

“Nevermind kiddo,” he said, realizing that he was speaking to a child who should have had no knowledge of such things, “We’ll get you and your brother fixed up, don't you worry.”

Damian wanted to ask more about the human trafficking, but he didn't want to give too much away. He didn't know the full extent of what was going on here, so it was better to play the ignorant child, no matter how much it annoyed him.

Forty five minutes later, they came to a stop, Damian once again jolting awake from a doze. The man opened the back door and reached for Tim; instinctively, Damian curled around him protectively.

“I'm not gonna hurt him, kiddo,” he said, “I know you're scared, but I just want to help.”

Damian slowly unfurled from around Tim, letting the man scoop him up in his arms, “I’m Lenny by the way. What’s your name?”

Damian debated whether or not to give his real name, “Damian,” he said after a minute. This man didn't seem like the type to keep up with Gotham socialite news.

“Don't you worry Damian, Gran and I’ll take care of you,” Lenny said.

They walked up the steps of a large wooden house. Well, it was more like a shack, but a nice looking shack, old but well maintained. Lenny didn't bother knocking, opening the door a little awkwardly while trying not to jostle Tim too much.

“Gran!” he called into the dark house, “Emergency!”

There was the sound of shuffling, then the lights flicked on and an old Native woman walked into the foyer, squinting at them. She said a few words in a language Damian had never heard before and motioned them further inside to what looked like a living room.

Lenny laid Tim out on the couch and the old woman—Gran, Damian guessed—leaned over him, “What happened to this one?” she asked. Her voice sounded like gravel rolling down a hill.

“Remember that human trafficking thing I was telling you about Gran?” Lenny said, “I think this might be that.”

Gran clicked her tongue, “Well, it certainly looks like these two have been done wrong.” She inspected the blood on Tim’s shift, “He get cut?”

“Shot,” Damian said, “His ribs might be broken.”

Gran clicked her tongue again, “Well that’s no good. Lenny, go wake Amber up, I need her hands. Then put on some water.”

Lenny disappeared into the interior of the shack while Gran started to remove Tim’s filthy shift, “You boys were out in that storm the other night.” It wasn't a question.

“It’s how we escaped,” Damian explained, “We walked through the forest all day.”

Gran hummed, “Sounds like an ordeal,” she said, finally getting Tim out of the shift and tossing it aside. She laid a hand-crocheted throw blanket over his bottom half to preserve his modesty.

Something about Gran made Damian feel like being honest, “We saw a cougar,” he offered, “It was really close to here.”

“Louis?” Gran said with a small grin, “You don't have to worry about him. He’s nothing but a big ol’ fraidy-cat.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, but he didn't have time to ask her more when Lenny and Amber—a woman in her late twenties who looked like she was about six months pregnant—came back into the room.

“Holy fuck,” Amber said, “What the fuck happened here? Who the fuck are these kids?”

“Language,” Lenny chastised, “Your brat’s gonna come out swearing like a sailor if you keep that up.”

Amber elbowed him sharply in the gut, “Fuck off,” she said, then crossed the room to Gran, “What do you need me to do?”

“Help me set his ribs,” Gran instructed, “Lenny, I need that water. Then get my Big Bag.”

Lenny trotted off to what Damian assumed was a kitchen. He paced anxiously around the two women trying to treat his brother.

“This kid must weigh less than a hundred pounds,” Amber said, “I’ve seen birds that weigh more. What the fuck happened to him?”

“Hunger strike,” Damian explained, “We were kept in a . . . cabin out in the woods by some bad men. They drugged him, so he stopped eating.”

“Fuck,” Amber swore, “His fever has got to be nearly forty degrees.”

“We’ll get to that,” Gran said, “Let’s get this disinfected and set first, shall we?”

Lenny returned with a pot of warm water in one hand and a huge bag in another. Gran grabbed both without comment and set to work. Damian could do nothing but watch as they cared for his brother as best they could.

Eventually, they stepped back, Gran covering him more fully with the throw blanket, “That’s the best we can do until morning when the clinic opens,” she said. She glanced at Damian, “You want something to eat?”

“No,” Damian said. He didn't think he could stomach any food right now.

Gran eyed him for a moment, “I’ll put on some tea,” she said, walking off to the kitchen.

Amber groaned and sat down on an ugly paisley loveseat, rubbing her belly, “I think I heard something about you guys on the radio earlier,” she said, “Some kids lost in the woods. They were asking for search party volunteers.”

“And you just now thought it would be a good idea to let us know that?” Lenny grumbled.

“Fuck you, I had my head in the toilet when I heard it,” Amber said, “I only just remembered it now.”

Lenny rolled his eyes, “I’m going to make a call. Hopefully Richie and his buddies are still awake.”

Damian perked up; ‘Richie’ was one of Dick’s aliases. They must have come to the area looking for them. He kept himself in his seat next to Tim though. He didn't want to accidentally contradict any story he might have cooked up.

Lenny walked outside just as Gran came back with a serving tray with tea cups and a bowl balanced on it. The tea smelled odd, but not unpleasant, unlike whatever was in the bowl. Damian wrinkled his nose, “What’s that?”

“It’s for your brother,” Gran explained, “It’ll help bring his fever down.”

Damian took his cup of tea and watched as Gran carefully spoon fed Tim the greenish broth. He wasn't looking worse than when they arrived, but he didn't look like he was improving any either. Damian sipped his tea nervously, hardly tasting it as he watched Tim like a hawk.

Lenny returned, “Couldn’t get a hold of Richie, but I got the message to the police, and they’ll pass it along,” he said. He watched Damian for a moment, “You want to get some sleep, kiddo?”

“No,” Damian answered, “I don't want to sleep.”

Lenny and Amber shared a look, but decided to leave it alone. Lenny pulled a chair out from the kitchen and sat down with the rest of them, letting the silence hang in the air. Gran finished spoon feeding Tim and sat down with her own tea on the remaining loveseat, while Damian sat on the floor next to Tim’s head.

They didn’t sit for very long, as a car pulled up the driveway. Damian tensed, immediately sensing that something was wrong. He scrambled to the window and peered out as a familiar figure exited the rental car.

“That was quick,” Lenny said as he got up and headed for the door.

Damian slammed into his side, “Don’t!” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down.

“What the hell, kid?” Lenny asked, rubbing his side where Damian’s shoulder had dug in with surprising force, “What’s wrong with—?”

“That’s the man who had us captured,” Damian explained quickly, “He wants to brainwash Tim into his slave.”

Lenny tensed, “Shit,” he growled, “Gran, Amber, get the kids out the back,” he instructed. He crossed the room and opened a little closet, pulling out a rifle, “I’ll deal with him.”

“Lenny, don't be fucking stupid,” Amber almost shouted, “You’re going to get killed!”

“Whities couldn't kick my great-grandma offa this land, and they sure as heck ain’t gonna kick me off now,” Gran growled, reaching into the closet and pulling out a shotgun, “This is my land by right, no one’s hurting anyone on my watch.”

“You’re both fucking crazy.” Amber paced around the room, clutching at her belly protectively.

“Get the kids out of here Amber,” Lenny ordered again, “We’ll be fine.”

Amber turned on him, “How the fuck am I supposed to get him out of here?” she gestured to where Tim was still lying prone on the couch, “I’m not supposed to lift lawn chairs, how the fuck am I going to carry a teenager, even one as fucking skinny as him?”

“Tim?” Business Suit called through the door, “I know you’re in there, come on out. Dad’s here now!”

“Get away from the door,” Gran called calmly, taking aim with the rifle, “Or I’ll blow your head clean off.”

“I just want the boy,” Business Suit said, “You can keep the little one if you like.”

“Back off man, we’re armed!” Lenny called, “Take about ten steps back or I’ll pump you full of buckshot.”

There was the sound of footsteps receding from the door. Lenny kept his rifle pointed up and slowly opened the door, ready to fire if anything happened. Business Suit was standing about ten paces back from the door, his hands visible and face open and honest.

“Hello?” he called, smiling in a friendly manner, “I see you’ve found my boy. I’ve been terribly worried. They got lost in that storm the other night looking for our dog.”

“He’s lying,” Damian snarled from the doorway, “He kidnapped us.”

Business Suit sighed, “Damian, have you gone off your meds again? You know you have to keep taking them or you’ll get confused.”

“You just stay right there mister,” Lenny said, “The police are on their way.”

Business Suit sighed, “I wanted to do this the easy way, but you just had to make things difficult, didn't you?”

There was a yelp from behind them. Damian turned his head just in time to see Tim rip the shotgun from Gran’s hands and knock her to the ground. Inside the house, Amber was lying on her side, unconscious. Lenny whirled around, but not fast enough to avoid the butt of the shotgun Tim slammed into his jaw. Lenny crumpled to the ground and Tim picked up the rifle and tossed it to Business Suit.

“Tim, no,” Damian said, watching in horror as the older boy aimed the shotgun at him.

“Good boy Tim,” Business Suit said, picking up the rifle, “You’re such a good boy. You make Dad so proud.”

Tim’s eyes were bright with fever, but vacant. He stared down at Damian without any recognition at all, the barrel inches from Damian’s nose.

“Tim! Snap out of it!” Damian cried, trying to think of something that wouldn’t get Tim hurt.

“Now now Damian, no need to shout,” Business Suit said, “We can all hear you just fine.”

“Shut your face!” Damian snarled, before turning back to his brother, “Tim, fight this. I know you can fight this.”

Tim positioned the shotgun better against his body, like he was ready to fire and put his finger on the trigger.

“Tim, please,” Damian felt the sting of tears in his eyes. It couldn’t end like this.

“Tim,” Business Suit called, “Be a good boy and shoot Damian for me, would you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was never planning on making Tim completely brainwashed, but I realized that it made the story end too quickly and without enough drama, so now we have this. You're welcome.


	19. Saskatoons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a lot longer than it should have, but it's been horrendously hot and I think I'm coming down with something. I hope you enjoy reading this, the 'final' chapter before the epilogue.
> 
>  
> 
> [Commission me!](https://mishaberrywrites.tumblr.com/post/161363062015/misha-berrys-fanfic-commissions)

“Tim,” Business Suit called, “Be a good boy and shoot Damian for me, would you?”

Damian tensed; there was nowhere to run, no way to get away. Tim was too close to avoid, and Damian was fully aware of Business Suit holding the rifle as well. He looked up into Tim’s impassive face, searching for some kind of recognition in his eyes.

“Tim, you don’t have to do this,” he said, “You’re better than what he did to you.”

Tim’s face didn’t change, but his finger didn’t move on the trigger, “Tim, we don't have all day,” Business Suit said, “Shoot him and then let’s go. We can bring his corpse along to dissect at a later date.”

“Shut your fucking face!” Damian shouted, “Or I’ll rip it off!”

Business Suit rolled his eyes, “You’re continued lack of manners is annoying and predictable.”

Tim’s finger continued to hover over the trigger. He was breathing hard, still feverish and struggling to keep upright. He’d tied the throw blanket around his hips, leaving his chest bare. The white bandages almost disappeared into the white of Tim’s skin, white was stretched thin over his jutting ribs. If Tim fired that weapon, the recoil would shatter his collarbone.

“Tim.” Business Suit sounded impatient now, “Shoot the little brat so we can go. You can do it, I believe in you.”

Damian snarled, “He’s lying to you Tim. He just wants to use you.”

“Now now, I’ve never been dishonest with Tim. Not like the lot of you,” Business Suit said, “I’ve always told Tim the truth. Family shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”

“You’re not his family!” Damian shouted at him.

Business Suit grinned, “I am now.”

Damian couldn't take it anymore. Seeing red, he vaulted over the railing of the balcony and charged, confident that Tim wasn't about to shoot him in the back. Business Suit’s eyes widened comically and he fumbled with the rifle in his hands. Damian was nearly upon him when he managed to swing it up and fired off a shot. The bullet ripped through Damian’s arm, knocking him backwards with a spray of blood.

“No!”

A second shot went off and the rifle in Business Suit’s hand shattered to pieces, as well as his hand. Business Suit howled in pain and dropped the broken firearm, clutching his mangled hand. Damian turned his head to see Tim at the top of the steps, aiming the shotgun at Business Suit now, face twisted fury.

“Kill you,” Tim snarled, shaking where he stood, “I’ll kill you!”

“N-now Tim, think about what you’re doing,” Business Suit said, trying to come off as non threatening again, “You don't want to kill your Dad, not again.”

“You’re not my dad!” Tim shouted, “You’ll never be my family!”

Tim took aim and Business Suit scrambled back with a scream. The shot rang out through the forest, and even Damian flinched. The ground where Business Suit had been standing exploded in a cloud of dust.

“Now leave my brother alone, or the next one will go between your eyes,” Tim snarled. From the look in his eyes, even Damian believed he’d do it.

Business Suit looked like he wanted to say more, but the way Tim was glaring at him like he was trying to set him on fire with his mind stopped him cold. Without another word, Business Suit climbed into his car and sped off, kicking up dust in large clouds.

Tim waited until he was out of sight and dropped the gun, stumbling forward towards Damian, “Dami, you’re hurt,” he said, falling to his knees next to him.

Damian groaned, “Just an arm shot,” he said, “It only hurts like a bitch.”

Gran came forward from the house, having recovered from Tim’s takedown move, “We need to stop the bleeding,” she said.

Tim looked up at her, “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Gran raised a grey eyebrow at him, “You weren’t in your head, it’s fine. I’m more impressed that you managed to sneak up on me than anything.”

Lenny groaned as he came too, rubbing his jaw, “Fucking Christ,” he groaned. He took stock of the scene and rushed over to help, “Damn kid, you okay?”

“He’s been shot Lenny,” Gran said, rolling her eyes, “Help me get him inside.”

“I can walk,” Damian said, struggling to stand, “It’s not even bleeding that much.”

Through the trees, headlights cut through the darkness. Damian tensed, dreading for a moment that Business Suit had returned, but a different rental car came speeding around the bend in the road. It braked hard just a few feet from them, and a large figure stepped out.

Bruce looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair slightly disheveled and eyes a bit manic. The naked relief on his face when he caught sight of them took years off his face. He slammed the car door and all but ran over. None of them had time to react as he crushed both Tim and Damian to his chest, holding them both as tight as he could without hurting them.

“Father,” Damian breathed, pressing his face into Bruce’s shirt and clutching wrapping his good arm around as much of his as he could reach, squeezing back just as tightly.

Bruce’s heart was going a mile a minute. They were here, they were both okay. He’d nearly had a heart attack when he’d heard the shots in the distance as they were driving to where, apparently, someone had picked up two boys lost in the woods. Seeing them both alive and well had been one of the most emotional experiences of his life and he didn’t even care that people were watching him almost have a meltdown.

“Tim! Dami!” Dick appeared at his side, happy tears already flowing down his cheeks, “You’re both okay!”

Tim smiled weakly at him, “Relatively,” he croaked, before going limp and passing out in Bruce’s arms.

“Shit,” Bruce swore, letting go of Damian to get a better hold of Tim before he fell to the ground, “What happened to him?”

“He has a fever,” Damian explained, “And he was on a hunger strike. And also his ribs are broken.”

Bruce cursed under his breath and lifted Tim easily into his arms, wincing at how light he was. Ironically, it reminded him of a bird, all fragile and weighing next to nothing. Tim had always been on the lean side, at least in comparison to the rest of the family, but now he felt as though he might fade away in Bruce’s arms.

“Get him inside,” Gran said, “I’ll check his ribs again.”

Bruce carried Tim into the little house as instructed. Gran gestured for him to lay Tim out on the couch, but he felt reluctant to let him go. He comforted himself by staying as close as he could, petting Tim’s hair and reassuring himself that this was real.

“I thought you guys said you were private investigators?” Lenny said to Dick as they helped Amber up and into a chair.

“I did, we are,” Dick said, “I didn't say we were working for a client.”

Lenny huffed out a laugh, “That’s true. So you're all family?”

“Yes,” Dick said, straightening and looking around for their youngest, “Not by blood mostly, but family is family.”

Dick eventually found Damian, who was pressed up to Bruce’s side, watching Tim just as intently as his father. Dick was almost loathe to tear him away, especially seeing Bruce’s arm around Damian’s shoulder clinging just as tight, but Dick knew that Bruce would need his other hand, “Dami,” he called, “Come on over here and we’ll fix your arm.”

Damian glanced back at him, then back at Tim. Bruce rubbed his back once and removed his arm, reluctantly letting him go. Dick opened his arms as Damian came towards him, hugging him tightly.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Dick hissed, trying to come up with appropriate amount of anger to put into it, but he was just too relieved that they were both okay.

Jason seemed to have no such trouble and flicked the back of Damian’s head, “You do something stupid like that again and I’ll dangle you off the roof by your ankles, you little shit.”

Damian grumbled and sank further into Dick’s arms, “I don’t care. I saved Tim.”

Dick raised an eyebrow; Damian never used first names aside for special people. Even Dick was still ‘Grayson’ most of the time. Something for another time though, he had to get a look at the wound and Damian’s arm.

“What happened here before we arrived anyway?” Dick asked. Cass brought the first aid kit they’d stashed in the rental and opened it. She patted Damian’s head once before disinfecting the wound. A bullet wound, through and through.

“Nf, the man who orchestrated all this found us, and tried to make Tim kill me,” Damian explained, “He tried to brainwash Tim into thinking he was his father.”

“Shit,” Jason swore, “Good thing he tore out of here when he did, I might have shot him.”

“Tim almost did,” Damian said, “With a shotgun.”

Jason whistled, and it distracted Damian long enough for Cass to stick him with the needle as she began to stitch him up, “You need a bath,” she said.

Damian rolled his eyes and tried not to tense as Cass stitched him up. He tried to see around Bruce’s back as he and Gran fussed over Tim, but exhaustion was creeping up on him and he began to struggle to keep his eyes open. Dick noticed he was starting to droop and pulled him back against his chest.

“Sleep Dami,” he said, “We’ve got you now. Don't worry.”

Damian let out a long sigh. With one last look to check on Tim, he let himself slip into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

It took a bit of explaining around in circles to the Canadian authorities, but they finally managed to give a satisfactory statement that took everything into account while protecting their identities. Tim was determined to have an infection from the bullet wound and broken rib, which was exacerbated by his extremely low body weight. The best thing for him would be rest and recuperation at home with his family (and Leslie on call just in case).

Alfred was waiting for them when they arrived back at the Manor; the entire house had been scrubbed more spotless than usual, a testament to how stressed he’d been and how happy he was to have Tim home.

“Master Timothy’s room is set up with monitoring equipment, however, I suggest we bring him downstairs to perform a checkup first,” Alfred said, standing aside as Tim was wheeled in in a wheelchair. He’d protested being picked up and carried, but everyone was too fidgety when he tried to walk on his own, so they’d reached a compromise.

Tim, for his part, had trouble staying awake most of the time, “Do we have to?” he croaked, “I just want to sleep in a real bed.”

“And you will.” Alfred broke his usual well-crafted mold of British distance and reached out to pet Tim’s hair gently, “Just as soon as we’re certain of your health.”

“Or lack thereof,” Jason quipped, always handy with the dark humor. Most of the family didn’t usually appreciate his particular brand of dark humor (specifically the jokes having to do with his own death), but Tim thought they were kind of funny. If you could laugh at it, it wasn’t that scary.

“You sure you don’t want anything to eat before you head up to bed?” Dick asked for maybe the millionth time. They were all worried about Tim’s weight (he’d gone from being around 130 pounds to being a little less than 100 pounds), but Dick had less qualms about trying to smother Tim in care and, more specifically, food.

“I just want to sleep forever,” Tim groaned, but he didn't fuss as they took the elevator down to the Cave. It was a tight fit with all of them, but they managed.

Barbara was waiting for them in the Cave. She let out a breath and smiled when she saw Tim, like she hadn’t fully believed the good news until she saw it with her own eyes, “Hey kid,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady, “Nice chair.”

Tim chuckled a little, “We match,” he said, earning a laugh out of her. She wheeled alongside of him as he was brought into the medical bay.

“Hang on, I want to do it,” Steph said before Bruce could lift Tim onto the exam table.

Tim rolled his eyes, “You’re getting a kick out of how I easy I am to pick up, aren’t you?”

Steph grinned, “Absolutely,” she said. Gently scooping him up bridal style (giving him no choice but to put an arm around her shoulder), she clung to him for a moment and whispered into his ear, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Tim squeezed her shoulder slightly as she put him down on the exam table. They may not have been together anymore, but they were still close, and still loved each other. He wouldn’t be the person he was without Steph.

She plopped him down on the exam table as Alfred came around the other side. The rest of the family stayed close, Dick almost hovering over the table until Alfred waved a needle threateningly in his direction. Tim laughed at his family’s antics until he felt the prick of the needle in his arm. Suddenly his vision went dark and he was back in the lab, strapped down with Dr. Haverford’s voice in his ears. His heart rate spiked and he jerked, lashing out before the drugs could enter his system and send him spiralling into his own head.

“Tim!”

Bruce’s voice snapped Tim back into the present. He was half sitting up off the table, Alfred’s wrist caught in his grip, tight enough to bruise. To his credit, Alfred barely flinched, looking more concerned for Tim than his own wrist. The rest of the family was watching him, tense and ready to jump in if he seemed like he was was going to go crazy.

Tim dropped Alfred’s wrist, “Sorry, I—” his voice caught a little in his throat, “I went somewhere for a second. Sorry Alfred, I didn't mean to.”

Alfred patted Tim’s arm gently, “Don’t worry about it at all, Master Tim. I should have given you more warning.”

Tim smiled up at him, relaxing back onto the exam table. Everyone else let out the breath they’d been holding. Dick came around to hold Tim’s hand, “We’ll get you fixed up soon, kiddo,” he said, all earnestness that would have been embarrassing if it was anyone else.

Tim nodded and squeezed his hand, not letting go as Alfred began his exam. It helped to ground him in reality as his blood was taken and he was poked and prodded, to keep the memories about being in the lab at bay.

As they had already guessed, Tim had an infection from the injury and was majorly underweight, “You’ll need a strict diet and bed rest until I deem you fit enough to take up training again,” Alfred said, “As well as antibiotics for the infection.”

“Well, it’s not the worst I've ever had,” Tim said, “I’d rank this as my fourth worst near death experience.”

Alfred didn't roll his eyes, but it was a near thing, “How generous of you,” he drawled.

Tim chuckled, but he could still feel the exhaustion in his bones, “Can I sleep now?” he asked, close to begging.

“That would be wise,” Alfred said, “I’ll start preparing your meal plan for later.”

Tim hummed in acknowledgment and let himself be gently manhandled back into the chair. A gentle hand in his hair made him look up; Cass was smiling softly down at him.

“Such a sleepy bird,” she said, making him snort out a short laugh.

“You would be too,” he countered. Cass laughed at him and stepped around so she could push his chair. The gentle rattling of the chair and the banter of his family almost put him to sleep before they reached his bedroom. He blinked awake from his doze when he felt strong arms lifting him up.

“Sorry,” Bruce said, hoisting him up against his chest and carrying to his bed, “Tried not to wake you.”

Tim hummed, “‘s fine,” he murmured. He sighed contentedly as he was put down on the bed. His bed, with all of it’s blankets and pillows and safe, comfortable squishiness. He wanted to sink into it for a hundred years.

Bruce gently ran his fingers through Tim’s hair, “Get some sleep, son,” he said softly, “We need to get ready for patrol soon, so we’ll see you in the morning.”

“M’kay,” Tim breathed, already mostly asleep. He watched the others leave quietly through half lidded eyes, drifting off into blessed unconsciousness before the door was even closed.

* * *

 

Tim was wide awake.

Shortly after the others had left, a sense of dread had pulled Tim out of his peaceful slumber. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to let the exhaustion take over and pull him under again.

It was dark out now, so he’d at least gotten a few hours sleep. The others would be on patrol by now, so there was no point in going downstairs in search of company. Alfred and Barbara might be around, but they’d be busy helping the others with patrol, and he didn't want to disturb them.

 _They’ve abandoned you_ , a voice said in his head. He was home and safe now, but that didn’t mean that things weren’t still burrowed deep into hi brain. _They’ve left you here on their own because they don't need you. You’re useless to them now. They don’t love you._

Tim groaned and dug his nails into his opposite wrist, gritting his teeth and resisting the urge to scratch until he bled. He was home. He was safe. There was no need for this.

The door opened and Tim startled a little, “Who’s there?” he asked.

A small figure came closer in the darkness, “Tim? Why aren’t you sleeping?” Damian asked, coming up to the side of the bed.

Tim relaxed, “Bad dream,” he half-lied, “I’ll be fine. Why aren’t you out on patrol?”

“I’m grounded for running off and getting myself kidnapped,” Damian explained. He watched Tim for a few moments before gingerly climbing into the bed with him.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked. Damian crawled under the covers and curled up into Tim’s side, throwing an arm around him, careful to avoid his ribs.

“Your bed is too soft,” Damian complained, but he made himself comfortable anyway.

Tim still wasn't sure what was going on, but the anxiety was receding, his head going quiet and calm. Tim took a deep breath and wrapped an arm around his younger brother.

“Night,” he said softly.

“Tt, get some sleep Tim,” Damian scoffed.

Tim smiled, even though Damian couldn't see it. Slowly, he started falling asleep again, comforted by the presence of his little brother curled up next to him. Just before he fell asleep again, he thought he heard a quiet, “Goodnight Tim.”

But maybe it was just his imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a great time writing this. I should have the epilogue chapter up soon, though it might take a while. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did.


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like twice as long as any other chapter, but there was a lot of shit to tie up. I had so much fun with this fic and you've all been a wonderful audience. With that said, here's the epilogue. Enjoy!

Tim awoke fairly early, coming into awareness slow and languidly. He sighed deeply and stretched under the covers, slightly confused by the warm weight at his side. His brain almost said ‘Conner’ before he realized that it was much too small to be his boyfriend, and then he remembered that Damian had crept into his bed last night.

Damian was still fast asleep, curled up under Tim’s arm and snoring softly. Somehow, Alfred (the Cat) had found his way into the room and was sleeping at the end of the bed. Tim could see a huge black mass over the side of the bed that let him know that Titus had joined them as well. Tim didn't know if Damian had let them in at some point in the night or if one of the others had let them in, but he didn’t think it mattered. He didn't mind Damian’s pets.

The door clicked open and Alfred (the Butler) poked his head in, “Ah, awake I see,” he said, striding into the room with a tray of breakfast and a selection of pill bottles, “Good, it’s time for your medication.”

“Thanks Alfie,” Tim said, voice rough with sleep. He tried to sit up a little without jostling Damian awake.

“I see you had company last night,” Alfred said, delicately stepping over the sleeping mass of dog on the floor. He set the tray down on the nightstand and began to unload the bottles and shake out pills.

Tim hummed, ruffling Damian’s hair, causing the sleeping boy to snuffle a little and burrow deeper into the bedding. Alfred smiled fondly at the two of them and handed Tim his first batch of pills to take and a glass of water.

“Speaking of company,” Alfred said, “Master Conner is here to see you. Do you think you’re feeling well enough to see him?”

Tim swallowed the pills with a gulp of water, “Yes, of cour—”

“Tim!” Conner appeared in the room with a gust of air, startling Alfred (the Cat) and Titus. Tim hardly had a moment to react when lips were pressed to his, firmly but gently. Tim sighed and melted into the kiss, hands coming up to grip Conner’s biceps.

Conner pulled away after a long second, “You’re okay!” His eyes were wet and a little red. He cupped Tim’s face with his massive hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs.

Tim smiled up at him, “Conner,” he said a little breathlessly. He leaned forward and Conner bent to kiss him again.

“Ahem,” Alfred cleared his throat, “Perhaps this can wait until after breakfast. Or at least until I leave the room.”

Tim flushed, “Sorry, Alfred,” he said, sheepish. Alfred only handed him his next batch of pills. Conner came down from where he’d been floating above the bed, settling at Tim’s side (the one that wasn’t currently occupied by a tiny ninja child).

Alfred placed the tray of breakfast over Tim’s lap, “Until your weight is back up to acceptable levels, you will be on a strict meal plan. You  _ will _ finish all of your breakfast.” Alfred didn’t often give orders, so when he did, it was in your best interest to do what he told you.

“I will,” Tim promised, looking down at his breakfast. Sausages, french toast with fruit and syrup, and a poached egg, with a tall glass of orange juice. One of Tim’s favourites, “Thanks Alfred, it looks great.”

Alfred nodded his head in acknowledgement, “I’ll leave you two alone.” He turned and left the room, closing the door with a soft click.

Conner was back almost immediately, kissing the corner of his mouth and pulling him close, “I was so worried,” he said against Tim’s lips between kisses, “I would have helped find you the other day, but there was this thing in Chicago and—”

“Mm, Conner,” Tim interjected, “It’s okay. I’m okay,” he said, leaning into the kisses, revelling in Conner’s warmth, “I’m just fine now.”

Conner hummed and slid his hand down Tim’s chest. His brows furrowed when he felt all of Tim’s bones through his skin, rather than the lean muscle he was used to, “You’re so skinny now,” he said, moving back a little.

Tim’s heart froze for a moment and he nearly yanked him back, afraid that he would leave. Did Conner no longer find him attractive?  _ He must be disgusted by your new body. _

He was saved from his mini-freak out when Conner took up the fork from the tray and cut off a corner of french toast, “Come on, you need to eat,” he said, spearing the toast onto the fork and holding it up to Tim’s lips.

Tim relaxed a little, “I can feed myself,” he said, reaching up to take the fork, “I’m not that sick.”

Conner let the fork go with a small smile, but he still looked worried, “Sorry, I guess Ma’s rubbed off on me a little. I see someone skinny, and all I want to do is feed them.”

Tim laughed, “Sounds rough,” he said, “And you’ll have your work cut out for you with me. I’m down to ninety-eight pounds.”

“Fuck,” Conner swore, “What were you thinking? A hunger strike could have killed you.”

“I’d rather have been dead than his plaything,” Tim said, his tone no longer light but deadly serious.

Conner didn’t look surprised by this revelation, but there was a look of anguish behind his eyes, “I know babe,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around Tim’s much smaller body and holding him close, “I’m proud of you.”

Tim let out a long sigh and relaxed into the hold. Conner kissed his temple and then ducked to kiss his mouth again. Tim pressed up into him, eager after spending almost four months away from his boyfriend. Conner hummed and pulled Tim a little closer, careful of his ribs, and deepened the kiss.

“Could you not?” Damian grumbled, sitting up in bed, “I’m right here.”

Conner pulled back and scowled, “What are you doing here, brat?”

“Well I  _ was _ sleeping,” Damian yawned, “What are  _ you _ doing here, alien?” His usual biting tone was back, though the punch was taken out of it a little by his wild bed head.

Conner growled and Tim patted his chest, “Simmer down, both of you,” he said, “Damian was grounded from patrol, so he came to keep me company. Conner’s here because he’s my boyfriend. Now both of you get along.”

Damian and Conner stared each other down for a moment before Damian scoffed and rolled over out of bed, “I'm want breakfast, so I'll leave you two alone,” he said, leaning over to scoop Alfred up into his arms. Titus jumped up and obediently trotted by his master’s side. Damian paused at the door and turned to glare hatefully at Conner, “If you hurt him, I’ll end you,” he said, then turned and left.

“What’s gotten into him?” Conner grumbled, not at all intimidated by the little brat (not at all).

Tim snuggled up to Conner’s side “We were imprisoned together, we bonded.”

“Oh,” Conner said, “Well that’s good I guess.” He swung an arm around Tim’s shoulder and kissed his temple, “Tim?”

“Hm?” Tim leaned into the touch, glad to have some real affection after so long.

“You’re not eating.”

Tim blinked, realizing that his breakfast was starting to go cold, “Oh,” he said, straightening a little, “Right, sorry. I just gotta . . . get back in the habit I guess.”

Conner squeezed his shoulder, deciding not to mention that Tim had been pretty shit at eating even before all of this happened, “Eat your breakfast Tim, all of it, just like Alfred said.”

Tim hummed and picked the fork back up, the piece of French toast still skewered to the tines. It took more effort than he thought it would to put it in his mouth and chew it. Slowly, he worked his way through his entire breakfast, done with it nearly two thirds of the way through, but persisting because he knew he wouldn't be able to wiggle out of finishing it.

When his plate was cleaned, he set the tray aside and snuggled back into Conner. His stomach felt a little tight, and it was reminding him of unpleasant times with a tube forced into his throat, but Conner’s warm presence was helping keep the bad thoughts away.

“I think I want to sleep some more,” Tim hummed, shuffling down into his covers more, already drifting off.

“Want me to go?” Conner asked. Tim gripping his shirt tightly was all the answer he needed, and he wiggled under the covers with Tim, pulling him close to his chest.

Tim sighed and rested his cheek on Conner’s chest, listening to his breathing. Conner gently stroked his hair, murmuring sweet nothings to him until Tim fell back asleep.

* * *

 

Tim couldn't be left alone.

The whole family noticed it eventually, being the bunch of detectives they were. It wasn't hard to figure out either, with the way Tim sought them out whenever he could. He hadn't gone into too much detail about what had happened to him outside of what they needed to know for the report, but it was easy guess at some of what he went through from his behaviour.

For the first week, it hadn't really mattered, they’d swarmed and hovered around Tim like protective bees, almost smothering him with their presence. Tim hadn't seemed to mind so much, and even seemed to enjoyed the company, which should have been their first clue, since Tim was usually such an introvert.

After a while however, they’d all reassured themselves that Tim was home and well on his way to recovery, and they’d slacked off a little with the attention. It was at that point that Tim started seeking them out, despite Alfred’s warnings that he should stay in bed to conserve his energy.

Of course, Tim being Tim, he couldn’t just come right out and say he wanted attention, and it took the rest of the family a little while to figure out what was going on.

Dick was sitting in the kitchen, enjoying a bowl of cereal when something caught his eye. Tim was slowly shuffling into the kitchen, wrapped in a fluffy blanket despite it being summer. He’d put on a little weight in the last week, but he was still much too skinny, as well as still fighting the infection.

“Hey Timmers, shouldn’t you be in bed?” Dick asked, setting down his bowl.

“I’ve been in bed for weeks. I’m restless,” Tim said, managing to get himself into the chair next to Dick.

Dick wasn’t convinced, Tim looked like he was about to pass out at any moment, “Alright,” he said, deciding to let this play out. Confronting Tim would only make him defensive and not likely to trust Dick and open up to him. Coming on strong was the worst strategy to take with Tim.

Instead, Dick reached for the box of cereal he’d left out, “Want some Crocky Crunch?” he asked.

Tim smiled, “Alfred would have a conniption if he caught me straying from my meal plan.”

Dick chuckled and got up to get Tim a bowl, “Tim, I can almost see  _ through _ you. I think some empty calories and sugar will actually help in this situation. Besides, everyone’s still too happy you're back, he’ll take it out on me, not you.”

A shadow crossed Tim’s face, too quick for Dick to identify it, but then he smiled again, “On your head be it,” he said.

Dick smiled at him, not giving away what he suspected and made Tim a bowl of cereal. He plucked a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and turned to the fridge to get the raspberries he knew were in there, “Here, I’ll even put some fruit into it, so he can’t be too mad.”

Tim laughed, then groaned through a smile, “Don’t make me laugh, my ribs still hurt.”

“Sorry,” Dick said, placing the complete bowl of cereal and fruit in front of Tim, sliding a spoon across the table, “With everything else, it’s hard to remember every little bump and scrape you have.”

“Unless you’re me,” Tim pointed out, digging into the cereal, “Believe me, I can feel every injury I have.”

Dick grunted in sympathy and sat back down next to Tim, “I’ll bet. It’s been nearly two weeks and you still look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks.” Tim rolled his eyes.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, quietly munching through their cereal. Dick subtly observed Tim, trying to figure out was what bugging him. His eyes caught on a fresh red mark on Tim’s wrist, like he’d been scratching at it. Damian had mentioned Tim had self-mutilated while they were captive, a stress response or coping mechanism to keep his brains from melt out of his ears. Was he still doing it?

As soon as Tim had finished his cereal, he started to drift off. He had trouble keeping his head up and his eyes were closed more than they were open. Dick laid a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s get you back to bed, okay?” he suggested gently, hoping Tim didn't take it the wrong way.

Tim let out a drowsy hum, “Yeah, okay.”

Dick helped him up and walked with him back to his bedroom, going extremely slowly. Tim was the shortest of all of them aside from Damian, and usually walked quickly in order to keep up with their longer legs, but now his pace could be described as a ‘shamble’. It took a lot for Dick not to offer to carry him, knowing that it would  _ definitely _ be taken the wrong way.

They reached Tim’s bedroom and Dick stopped, “Get some sleep okay? You really need it.”

Tim blinked, his exhausted brain trying to process. Dick smiled and stepped forward to pull Tim into a hug, even though he was pretty sure Tim didn't like hugs that much. Which was why he was mildly surprised when Tim wrapped his arms around him immediately and hugged back. They stayed that way for a lot longer than Dick expected Tim to be comfortable with before they pulled apart.

“Rest, little brother,” Dick said, fondly ruffling Tim’s hair, “You’ll be fine.”

Tim smiled up at him tiredly. Deciding to test something out, Dick didn't wait for Tim to get back into bed before he left. He ducked around the corner and waited for a minute. When he didn't hear Tim go into his room, he slowly peered back around the corner, just in time to see Tim wandering off down the hall. Dick followed him until he came to Bruce’s office, where he was working on some things for Wayne Industries.

“Tim? What are you doing up?” Dick heard Bruce ask.

“Needed a change of scenery,” Tim answered, “Mind if I crash in here for a while?”

“Of course, help yourself to the couch,” Bruce said, probably pleased that he’d be able to keep his third son in sight for a while.

Dick waited for a few minutes, until he was sure Tim was asleep. He strode into Bruce’s office, taking a moment to appreciate how cute Tim was curled up on the couch.

“He’s avoiding something,” Dick said, pulling out his phone to snap a picture of Tim, “He doesn’t want to sleep in his own bed.”

“He’s been through a lot,” Bruce said, “We can’t expect him to go back to normal right away.”

“Yeah,” Dick sighed, “I just wish he would talk to us.”

It went on for a while before they figured out what it was. At first Dick had suspected that Tim had something against being cooped up in his room the whole time, but he would spend hours in there if someone was with him. It was then that Dick realized that Tim was scared of being alone.

If he was left alone for more than a few minutes, Tim would start getting anxious, try to fight it off by self-harming, and then finally cave and get out of bed to go find someone to be around. It was an oddly predictable pattern, especially for Tim, who had always been so independent.

Of course, as soon as he figured it out, Dick told the others. Damian had already guessed; he’d been spending the most time with Tim since they returned, and on top of that he’d seen how bad Tim had been when he’d be captured.

“I’m not surprised,” Damian said, “To the best of my knowledge, he was kept in complete isolation outside of being tortured and whatever mind games Atwater tried to pull.”

“So he wants to be around us,” Steph said, “Not a bad thing, in my opinion.”

“Separation anxiety is normal in the aftermath of kidnapping,” Bruce said, “We’ll just have to help him in his recovery.”

It actually ended up being Jason who was the biggest help, to everyone’s surprise. He’d caught Tim during some sort of dissociative episode, staring off into space and scratching at his arm until he was bleeding.

“Hey Timbit?” Jason called softly, sitting down next to Tim on the couch where he’d been sitting (alone) for what was probably the last hour, “What’cha doing?”

“Hm?” Tim didn't turn to look at him, or acknowledge him in any way other than the short verbal answer.

Jason winced as Tim dragged his nails across his arm again, smearing blood with his fingers. Slowly, so he didn’t startle him, Jason put his hand on Tim’s back, gently rubbing circles while he unsubtly stuffed a pillow into Tim’s hands to fidget with.

“You know you’re home right? Nothing here is going to get you,” Jason said, trying to get a better look at the damage Tim had done to his arm.

“Mh-hm.” Tim seemed to relax a fraction, but he still had a wide-eyed expression, like there was something only he could see and it was freaking him out.

Jason decided to wait it out, letting Tim come back at his own pace. He kept up a steady circle on his back while simultaneously trying to keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t hurt himself.

It was nearly fifteen minutes before Tim came back to the present, “Jason?” he asked, blinking his dry eyes, “What happened?”

“You left for a bit,” Jason said, “Scratched the shit out of your arm.”

Tim glanced down at his bleeding arm and cursed, “I didn’t even realize,” he said. He started to get up, but Jason held him back.

“Sit for a few minutes, okay? I know how disorienting it can be to come back after something like that,” he said, gently coaxing Tim to sit.

Tim raised an eyebrow at him, “Yeah?”

Jason nodded, looking away from Tim and frowning, “You’re not sure where you are at first, and you don’t know what you're doing. It’s like you’re not even you.”

Tim looked at Jason in amazement, “I didn't know you dealt with that,” he said.

“It was worse back then,” Jason said. He always referred to when he had first come back, when he was set on destroying Batman and everything he held dear, as ‘back then’, trying to distance himself from it, “Then I got mixed up with Roy and Kori, and I started getting better. They helped a lot.”

“I didn’t know,” Tim said, “You did seem less . . . murder-y after hanging out with them.”

Jason scoffed, “Great English skills Tim, Dick would be proud,” he said, “But yeah, they were good. It was good to . . . talk with people.”

Tim watched Jason for a moment, unsure of what to say. Jason wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulders, “If you need to talk to someone, I get it. If you want help, just ask for it. There’s no shame in needing help.”

Even though Jason had made huge strides coming back to the family, he could still be flighty and distant at times, keeping everyone at arm's length. They saw him more as Red Hood than they did as Jason most of the time, though lately he’d been hanging around more. He was the last person Tim expected to tell him that he was around if Tim needed to ‘talk’.

“Thanks Jason,” Tim said, “That means a lot.”

Jason patted his back, “Come on, let’s get your arm fixed up before you get blood on the couch and bring the wrath of Alfred down on our heads.”

Tim laughed and let Jason tug him along, “He does get mad when we bleed on things.”

“You have any idea how hard blood is to get out of fabric? No, you don’t, because you’re a little rich boy who’s always had someone around to clean up after your pampered ass,” Jason said, grinning now.

Tim laughed, feeling a little more normal now. He felt like he existed in his own body again, and his mind had quieted down. He could feel the pain in his arm, and how pounding his headache was getting (when had he last had a drink of water?), but he welcomed that over the hellvoid brainspiral his mind had taken him on. He had a lot of issues he’d need to work out, but if Jason and the rest of the people he loved were there for him, he could probably figure it out.

* * *

 

Conner was over at the manor a lot more than he’d ever been before. He’d been a little awkward at first, since Bruce and the others hadn’t known about him and Tim until after he’d been taken (and he hadn’t been over much while the search had been on). Tim assured him that everything was fine, that his family was fine with them and him being over, but he was still tense whenever Bruce was in the same room. If Bruce did have an issue with Conner, he never said anything, probably not wanting to upset Tim while he was still recovering.

Tim was glad to have Conner over so much. Conner stuck close to him when he was over, helping keep his anxiety at bay and just keeping him company. They’d been best friends a lot longer than they’d been lovers, and Conner knew just the right ways to cheer him up when he needed it. They watched movies, played video games, talked (about silly things and important things), and sometimes just spent hours in silence, reading or napping, enjoying each other’s company without the pressure of having to make conversation.

However, they  _ were _ lovers now, and Tim missed Conner’s body as much as his mind.

They were laying on Tim’s bed, cuddled up together, Tim absently flipping through a book, and Conner trying to get his homework finished. Tim watched Conner flip his pencil around his fingers, thinking about what those dexterous fingers were capable of. Conner was bigger than him, physically stronger than him by an indefinite margin, but so incredibly gentle with him, usually without treating Tim like he was delicate or fragile. He’d been extra cautious lately, touch feather light, sometimes cushioning him with his TTK at first, just in case. He definitely hadn’t initiated anything, too paranoid that me might accidentally break Tim in his weakened state, even though he must be aching to get his hands all over Tim.

Bruce and the others were out going about their days, even Alfred had gone shopping in the city. Jason might have been around, but he kept himself scarce (and wouldn’t care what Tim got up to with his boyfriend behind closed doors). If they were going to do something, now was the perfect time to do it.

Tim closed his book and put it to the side, turning to snuggle up closer into Conner’s side. Conner hummed and lifted his arm so Tim could snuggle closer, leaning his head so he rested his cheek against the top of Tim’s head. Tim slid his hand across Conner’s chest, feeling the dips and grooves of his muscles, one of his fingers brushing a nipple under his shirt. Conner huffed a little laugh, but didn't react otherwise.

Deciding to be a little more obvious, Tim craned his neck up and kissed along Conner’s jawline, “Conner,” he called softly, knowing that even someone who could be a dense as his boyfriend was sometimes wouldn’t miss his intentions.

“Hmm.” Conner tilted his head a little, giving Tim more access. Tim gladly took advantage and sucked a patch of skin between his teeth, causing Conner to groan, “Tim,” he said, starting to sound a little breathless.

“Conner,” Tim hummed, bringing his leg up around Conner’s thigh and trailing his hand down to tug at the bottom of his shirt.

Conner tossed his homework aside and turned to kiss Tim, pushing him back onto the bed. Tim moaned and spread his legs so Conner could slot between them, arching his hips up so as to give no illusions as to what he was after. Conner groaned into the kiss and ground his hips down into Tim’s creating a beautiful friction that had Tim squirming.

Suddenly, Conner pulled away, propping himself above Tim on his hands and knees rather than pressing him down, “Tim,” he said, breathless but a little concerned, “Are you sure? You’re not fully recovered yet.”

“I’m well enough,” Tim insisted, reaching up to wrap his arms around Conner’s neck, feeling the hard muscles of his shoulders, “We can be careful.”

Conner bit his lip, “I don't know Tim, you’re still so thin.”

_ He doesn’t find you attractive. He doesn’t want you anymore _ , the voice came unbidden to Tim’s head. His body tensed for a moment and he began to drop his hands.

Conner must have sensed the change in Tim, because he quickly backtracked, “It’s not that I don't want to babe, you have no idea how badly I want you.” He pressed his pelvis back down into Tim’s letting him feel how much his body wanted Tim’s, “But I’m just worried you know? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tim took a few deep breaths to calm down, “You won’t,” he assured, “I know you’d never hurt me.”

“I don't know if I want to take that chance,” Conner said, “Maybe we should wait?”

Tim squeezed his shoulders, “We don't have to do penetration,” he said, “We can just grind a little.”

Conner flushed red, “Tiiiim,” he whined, “Why do you have to be so . . . so  _ direct _ ?”

Tim chuckled, “Why do  _ you _ have to be so shy?” He’d always been very forward about what he liked in bed, finding the direct route to be more efficient. Conner, surprisingly, was more shy about talking about it openly. For all of his bravado, you’d forget that he was technically only a few years old.

Tim gently pulled Conner back down on top of him, kissing him once he was close enough, “We’ll go slow,” he said, “And we won’t do anything fancy.”

Conner’s resolve faded, “If you need to stop, you’ll tell me right away.” It was more of a demand than a question, but he was starting to lay kisses to Tim’s neck.

“Yes,” Tim breathed, tilting his head back. Was he saying yes to Conner’s request or his kisses? It didn’t matter.

Conner trailed kisses all along Tim’s neck, ducking down to suck a mark into his collarbone, making Tim moan. He tangled his fingers into Conner’s short hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Conner’s hands found the bottom of Tim’s shirt and pushed it up, exposing pale skin to the air, making Tim shiver a little. He’d never really run warm—not like Conner, who was like a living furnace sometimes—but now it was felt like he was cold all the time, with no fat or muscle to insulate him. Conner grabbed the blankets with his TTK and pulled them higher, so they were in a little cocoon of warmth.

Tim lifted his arms so Conner could finish removing his shirt, tossing it away somewhere on the floor. He shucked his own shirt at the same time and bent back down to kiss Tim, licking his way into his mouth. Tim moaned and arched up, feeling Conner’s warm flesh against his own. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss further and wrapped his arms around Conner’s torso, feeling the movement of his muscles under his palms.

“Tim,” Conner groaned, grinding his hips down into Tim’s. Even through their pants, Tim could feel the heat of Conner’s erection, the thickness of it pressing against his own hardened cock.

Moaning, Tim tried to make quick work of Conner’s belt and jeans. Conner batted his hands away and did it himself, using his TTK so he didn't fumble it. Tim pushed his pyjama pants down his hips and kicked them away into the sheets to be found later. Conner latched onto his neck again and slid their erections against each other, causing them both to moan loudly.

“Fuck,” Conner cursed, “It’s been so long,” he moaned, reaching between them to grab them both in hand and start pumping.

“Conner, Conner,” Tim gasped, wrapping his legs around Conner’s broad hips, “Please, please.”

Conner groaned and thrusted his hips a little faster, starting to leak precum and making them slide together faster. Tim wasn't sure if it was a Kryptonian thing or just a Conner thing (he wasn’t really about to ask Clark about it), but his cock always drooled so much precum, making anything they did together end up messy and wet.

Conner buried his face into Tim’s neck, kissing and sucking marks into the delicate skin. Normally this drove Tim wild, he loved it when Conner lavished attention on his sensitive neck, but he wasn't feeling the same satisfaction he usually did. He squirmed a little and brought his hands up to push at Conner’s chest, pushing him back a bit.

Conner immediately pulled away, his hand stopping its movements as well, “Tim? Are you okay? Do you need to stop?”

“No, just—” Tim cupped Conner’s face in his hands, pulling him close, “Like this? Can you just . . . look at me?”

Conner relaxed, “Yeah, I can do that,” he said, starting to move again.

Tim moaned, stroking Conner’s cheekbones with his thumbs, keeping their eyes locked to each other. Conner’s unnaturally blue eyes watched him, and Tim wondered how anyone could ever mistake him for anything more than human.

“You’re beautiful Tim,” Conner breathed against his lips, “God, you're so fucking beautiful.”

“C-Conner,” Tim gasped, ironically having trouble keeping his own eyes open as his pleasure spiked, “Faster p-please, I’m so close.” It had been so long since he’d been touched, he wasn't going to last very long.

“You’re so perfect Tim, so brave and amazing,” Conner groaned, speeding up his hand as demanded, “I love you Tim, fuck, I love you.”

“Conner!” Tim cried out, arching and spilling over Conner’s knuckles, his whole body shaking with the waves of pleasure that cascaded over him.

Conner wrapped his hand completely around Tim’s erection, neglecting himself for a moment and jerking Tim through his orgasm. Tim twitched and panted, toes curling in the sheets as he rode out the aftershocks, thrusting slightly into Conner’s hand, before collapsing back on the bed.

“Fuck Tim, that was so hot,” Conner groaned, sitting up a little and taking his own erection back in hand, pumping it hard, “You’re so gorgeous Tim, fuck, I could watch that all day,” he babbled. His hand sped up as his orgasm started to crest, “Fuck, Tim!”

Conner’s whole body went taut as he came, splashing Tim’s belly and pelvis with cum. He moaned loudly, still keeping his eyes open and on Tim. Tim moaned softly and bit his lip, making Conner groan even more.

“Stop doing that,” he whined.

“Doing what?” Tim asked.

Conner gestured vaguely at him, “Being all sexy like that. You know I barely have a recovery period.”

Tim chuckled, “I’ve never complained about that before,” he said, “And thanks.”

“For?” Conner asked, raising an eyebrow, “The orgasm? You know you don't have to thank me for that. I’m more than willing to provide those.”

Tim rolled his eyes and booted Conner in the thigh, “Not that you dork,” he laughed. Conner huffed out a laughed and ducked down to kiss at Tim’s face and neck, heedless of the mess between their bellies.

“For what?” Conner asked, kissing along Tim’s collarbone, nipping here and there playfully.

Tim hummed and relaxed into the sensation, “For still finding me attractive.”

Conner stilled, looking up at Tim’s face. Tim smiled a little weakly, suddenly feeling everywhere where his bones pressed against his skin, feeling how weak and skinny he was. He knew he still had dark circles under his eyes (worse than his usual ones), and his muscles were nowhere close to being as defined as they had been. Conner stared down at him for a long moment before bending to kiss him deeply, pouring every ounce of feeling he could into it.

“Always,” he murmured against Tim’s lips between kisses.

Tim sighed and wrapped his arms around Conner’s neck, “Did you just quote Harry Potter at me?”

Conner snorted, “You had to ruin the moment, didn't you?”

Tim laughed and rolled them over so he was straddling Conner’s hips, “Always,” he teased.

* * *

 

Bruce watched the News a lot. Not because he genuinely enjoyed it, but because it was the best way to get the highlights of what was happening around the world. Of course there were problems with that, mostly to do with what major News companies considered ‘news’, and which things got shuffled under the blanket. The solution to this dilemma was simply to watch local news channels from around the world, which gave a much more in depth look at issues facing their own regions.

Currently, Bruce was watching a local news channel from northern British Columbia, specific to one region that included the Bulkley Valley area. It had gone through the weather and local sports already, and was now going into more serious news.

“ _ —an hunt was called off yesterday after local hunters found the partial remains of a suspected person of interest. The man in question, Jeremiah Atwater IV was allegedly leading a human trafficking ring, as well as suspected of kidnapping and torturing a minor, whose identity has not been released. _

_ “Last night, local hunter Billie Morris stumbled upon a severed arm and part of a torso while trekking in the mountains. The remains appear to have been mauled by an animal, possibly a bear or a cougar, but it is unclear at this time whether or not this was the cause of death. The remains are being examined by experts, but police are hopeful that this is their man, the at-large Atwater. _

_ “‘It would be poetic justice, really. Those poor kids, and all those people whose lives he ruined. Save us the trouble of dragging him out of the woods and off to jail where he could just lawyer his way out of it.’” _

_ “Last week a vehicle was found abandoned at a rest area along Highway sixteen suspected to have been driven by Atwater. No other evidence has been forthcoming.” _

Bruce took a deep breath and turned the volume down as the story began to wind down, something about increased interest in the Highway of Tears after all of the hubbub about having a human trafficker in the area. Apparently the Prime Minister was interviewed about it. Bruce would have to get a sample of the DNA of the remains, to confirm that they did indeed belong to Atwater. He’d also have to remember to send something to Billie and Lenny for their help, which he kept forgetting to do. There was still a lot of work to be done on the case, a lot of loose ends to tie up, but in such a way that didn't lead back to him or Tim.

A presence materialized next to Bruce; Damian had slipped into the room without him noticing and was staring at the TV, half glaring and half vacant. He turned to Bruce after a moment.

“He won’t come back, right?” he asked, face and tone impassive, but his eyes speaking volumes. With Tim finally back, he might have been a little distracted from the fact that Damian had been taken as well. They had planned to cut open his youngest and rip out his enhancements and toss away the rest.

Bruce reached out and pulled Damian close, hugging him tightly, “No, he won’t,” Bruce promised, stroking Damian’s hair, “He’ll never get you again.”

Damian let out a sigh and buried his face in Bruce’s chest. Bruce leaned over and pressed the button on the remote, turning the TV off and leaving them with silence.

* * *

 

For some reason, Damian had insisted in helping plan Tim’s birthday party, and had been adamant that they invite almost every single one of Tim’s friends. Dick worried that it might be too much for Tim while he was still recovering, but Damian wouldn’t budge.

“He needs to have a big party, and it has to be  _ on _ his birthday,” Damian said, crossing his arms, “Trust me.”

“I don't know little D, Tim’s not at one hundred percent yet. I don't know if he could handle having a lot of people over like that,” Dick said, “He’s never really liked larger parties.”

Damian set his jaw, “We’re going to throw him a big party,” he said, leaving no room for debate.

Eventually, Damian won out, and worked with Dick and Bruce to make the guest list. Alfred and Jason covered the food, and Cass and Steph handled the decorating. It was turning out to be quite the event, one they were only sort of sharing with Tim. He was aware that a party was going to be held, but he didn't seem to grasp the scale of what was happening.

July 19th rolled around, and they had probably gone a little overboard with the guests. It seemed like the entire Teen Titans, half of the Justice League, and everyone who had been on Young Justice had come around.

“You guys really didn’t have to to do this,” Tim said, watching as more guests arrived, “It’s a bit much.”

“That’s honestly what we said,” Dick said, “But Damian was insistent that you have a big party.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, “Is that so?” he asked, not very surprised. He scanned the room looking for his younger brother (it was a little difficult to spot the little shorty through all of the people). Seeing him near the stairwell, Tim made his way over. It was slow going as everyone stopped him to wish him a happy birthday and tell him how sorry they were about his experience. Tim didn’t mind the attention so much, it was a nice change of pace, but it was making it hard to get where he needed to go.

Finally, he reached Damian, “Hey brat,” he greeted.

Damian looked up at him, “Drake.” He only ever called Tim by his first name when it was the two of them.

Tim smiled and reached out to ruffle Damian’s hair, “Thanks for the party.”

Damian huffed and swatted his hand away, “Imbecile,” he said. Tim had come to understand that this was Damian’s way of ‘teasing’. He’d never grown up with peers, and he simply didn’t know how to be a child. Tim was a bit embarrassed that it had taken them being kidnapped together to understand that, but he was glad he finally did.

Tim waited until Damian relaxed before ruffling his hair again. Damian growled, “Stop that,” he hissed.

Tim grinned and did it again, “What’cha gonna do about it?” he challenged.

Damian glared daggers, but Tim was saved from any (immediate) retaliation when he was suddenly hugged from behind, “Tim!” Cassie said in his ear, “Happy birthday!”

Tim smiled and turned to face her, “Hey Cassie,” he said, “Nice to see you, and thanks.”

Cassie smiled brightly at him, “You’ll never guess who showed up!” she said, but Tim could already see three other girls approaching them.

“Cissie, Anita, Greta, oh wow it’s so good to see you!” Tim said as they reached him and crowded around for hugs, “How have you been?”

“We’ve been just great Tim,” Cissie said, “We’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been to busy to miss you,” Anita said, grinning, “But it’s great to see you again.”

“Yeah, how’s that whole ‘raising your reincarnated baby parents’ thing going?” Tim asked, wondering what was his life that he could say something like that in real life.

Anita smiled, “Tiring, but I’ve got it covered,” she said, “Can’t be in the super-biz as much, but I make it work.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Tim said. God, it had been so long since he’d seen any of them, “What about you Cissie? I heard you qualified for the Olympics again.”

Cissie groaned, “Oh God, I so don't want to talk about that right now. I’ve been in and out of interviews for like the past month, I don't want to even  _ hear _ the word ‘Olympics’ for the rest of the day.”

Tim laughed; they all chatted for a minute before Steph ambushed them, “Hey birthday boy, Alfred says we’re doing cake in a few minutes. Get your butt over to the table so we can all sing off-key at you.”

“Be right there,” Tim said, “Guess that’s my cue,” he said to the others.

Steph eyed Greta for a moment, “Aren’t you the mist chick that tried to snuff me that one time?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Greta flushed, “Um, yes?” she said, looking worried for a moment.

Steph stared at her for a bit, “Nice to see you again,” she said, before stalking off, calling over her shoulder, “Hurry your butt up Tim! I want cake!”

Tim laughed and shook his head, “Is that the girl you used to date? Spoiler?” Greta asked, watching her go.

“Used to,” Tim said, walking in the direction of the cake (there were three cakes, enough to feed everyone and then some), “Not any more.”

“Right, you're dating Superboy now,” Cissie said, “Honestly should have seen that coming from a mile away.”

“I just think it’s hilarious because  _ both _ of you are my sloppy seconds,” Cassie chuckled, making Tim roll his eyes.

“I wasn't that surprised,” Anita said, “Soulmates can never stay apart for too long, even ones as dense as you two.”

Tim flushed, “Soulmates?” he asked, glancing over to where Conner and Bart were talking, probably hyping each other up to commit some sort of bad idea and break something, which always happened when those two were left alone without Tim to supervise them.

Anita grinned, “Come on Boy Wonder, let go eat some cake.”

Tim followed for a few paces before he remembered something and turned. Damian was still by the staircase, watching the party proceedings disinterestedly, “Just a sec guys, I’ll be along in a minute,” he said before he backtracked towards Damian.

Damian didn’t notice him approach, giving Tim the perfect opportunity to wrap his arm around his neck in a headlock and drag him off towards where everyone was congregating for cake.

“Ghk! Drake!” Damian struggled, but not that hard, mindful of Tim’s still-tender ribs, “Release me at once!”

“Come on little brother,” Tim said, not stopping his pace, “Let’s go have some cake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost sad that this is over, which is new for me because I'm usually happy when I finish a fic because I can be done with it. I hope all of you enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! It's been a hell of a ride you guys! Thanks to everyone who commented and gave kudos, you're all amazing and I hope to see you again on my future works!


End file.
